The Nowhere Place
by That-Other-Doctor
Summary: The world of Miraval is split across time. The ravaged people of the future transcend the boundary of centuries to battle the people of the past, desperate to create a better future at the cost of erasing themselves from the fabric of history. Then two visitors from the realm of the Forevertime arrive in a tall blue box, and soon their destinies entwine with that of Miraval forever
1. One for Sorrow

_In the beginning, the twin gods Valestar and Miran left the higher realm of _Soran_ and went forth into the infinite blackness of the middle realm. The elder god, Valestar, was as tall as the sky and as unshakable as the passing of time. His skin was sculpted from shadows and his eyes the fire of stars. When he spoke, the realm of _Menina_ trembled in awe and fear._

_ His sister, Miran, was fair and beautiful, but her kind words were a veil for her intelligence and cunning. Her thoughts alone were strong enough to remake the fabric of the universe, but very rarely did she wield them to that end. The two gods and their power circled one another in an eternal dance. Each was a balance for the other. Emotion and Logic. Life and Death. Good and Evil._

_Soon, the infinite blackness grew to bore the twin gods. At the beginning of time, Valestar, who was mightier than his sister but more arrogant and capricious, took his fiery pride and fashioned it into a sphere of gold, which he hung in a place of reverence in the empty sky. He populated his bright world with creatures whose minds were as sharp and ambitious as Valestar's own. His people constructed great cities of glass, silver and gold. They built vast ships to travel out across the infinite blackness and illuminate the emptiness with Valestar's light._

_Miran, however, looked upon her brother in pity, for she saw he would never be satisfied until all the realms of creation had been recast in his glory. But Miran sought to create life in the infinite blackness as well, so from her quiet thoughtfulness and the silver halo of her daughter stars, Miran fashioned a beautiful jewel of blue and green and placed it gently in the sky, thus balancing Valestar's world of conquest with one of peace._

_Miran's spiteful brother looked upon his creation of mind and machine, and then looked upon Miran's world of tranquility and color, and grew jealous of his sister. Valestar's world was not beautiful. It was cold and metallic, and he soon grew to hate the small sphere hovering in the shadow of his empire of light. And thus Valestar cursed Miran's land._

_'May your world be beautiful,' he proclaimed, 'but may it also be silent, for no creature who walks its soil may draw but a single breath before death claim him'._

_Miran could do nothing as the trees and grass glowed green with poison and the clear wind blew rank with pestilence. The air was still because no one lived to breathe it. No life flourished on Miran's small, beautiful world, and Valestar was once more content._

_Miran's fury was all-consuming, but unlike her brother, she was cunning. She was not stronger than Valestar, but she was more patient. Miran looked upon the hateful golden orb of her brother's making and foretold that one day it should be visited by Devils from the realm of the Forevertime, a place even Valestar's light daren't shine. The Devils would come as friends and be welcomed by the people of Valestar's world. But the Devils of the Forevertime could cheat death and outlive the time of birth and rebirth. Their tricks would incite war amongst Valestar's people until they destroyed themselves in the greatest battle ever known in all the realms of creation, leaving Valestar's world as silent as Miran's own._

_And thus the twin gods would at last be at peace, their two worlds as lifeless as the infinite blackness in which they had been created._

_– _The Old Testament of the Two Suns (Gen. 1:1)


	2. Ariassi and the Prophet

The sunsets are the only things we have left on Miraval.

After I have put the younglings to bed, eaten my evening meal with Atigona, and finished caring for the sick, it is an old and treasured tradition of mine to go topside and watch the suns set. I allow my thoughts to wander free of the stresses of duty and content myself in following Valestar and Miran on their journeys across the sky.

The cool night breeze beckons me out of the Vaults; the suns are low and dim. The heat is not so oppressive and the desert sand has cooled in the fading daylight. Walking across the ruins to the lookout post isn't as painful as it would have been not three _toles_ before, when the upturned slabs of stone are hot enough to burn.

An ancient wall, pitted from turns of erosion by the elements of the desert and by the passage of time, surrounds the outskirts of the old city. The lookout post marks the southeastern cornerstone of the wall and is the tallest structure still standing in the settlement. During the daytime, the post casts a double shadow in the light of the twin suns that extends across the desert like two gnarled fingers. The hooked digits seem to be reaching for something, ready to grasp some unwitting wanderer and pull him down into the depths of the scorching sand. I avoid the lookout post during the daytime. During the twilight _toles_, the shadow fingers are no longer reaching into my stomach and twisting it into knots.

My special time on the lookout post is when I can be alone with my thoughts. I am free from the stifling atmosphere of crying younglings and sick elders, all crammed together in the warrens of the Vaults under the ruins. The open byzantium sky seems impossibly large after knocking your head on a low roof for most of the daytime, and the view is a marvel.

Miran, lower in the sky and a brighter orange than her brother Valestar, sets the dunes ablaze with fiery light. The piles of sand and crumbling pillars throw long shadows that blanket the ruins in cool shade. The boiling sky is streaked with every shade of maroon and gold. Soon the suns will set and the blood sky will emerge to illuminate the nighttime. In the quiet _toles_ before dark, my ravaged world's harsh beauty is not quite so unforgiving.

I sit on my perch overlooking my home and the desert beyond. I rest my head on my folded arms and watch Miran dip below the horizon. The angle of her light illuminates the desert, and the golden sand shines with the speckled brilliance of a million pinpricks of red, orange, and green.

The dunes are dusted with tiny particles of compressed glass left over from the old times. Legend says that before the War in Heaven, Ninagirsu was a glass metropolis that shared the sky with Valestar at his zenith. The War took everything from us; what was once a great city is now no more real than an obscure race memory. All that remains of our great civilization is the sand and the stories, but when Miran and Valestar are aligned just right in the evening sky, the double rays shine through those microscopic glass beads and splits the sunlight into a spectrum of color that stains the desert dunes. I know the sight well, but tonight, as in every nighttime, it brings a tear to my eye.

It seems so cruel that our dead home can still be so beautiful, that the thing I will miss the most about my life on Miraval is the sunset with whom I can share my innermost thoughts and finally be at peace.

"Ariassi?"

I jump at the voice from below me. Turning around, I look down to see the capped head of Refillwey. He is a member of my birth turn, but holds higher ranking because he is the apprentice of the nighttime watchman.

"You startled me," I call.

Refillwey does not look very apologetic. He blinks slowly and purses his mouth in a thin line. I don't think he has ever smiled, at least not so in my memory. "You are required back in the Vaults."

I sigh and turn my back on the sour Miravalan, wishing he would go away and leave me alone. "I am here at the evening _tole _at the end every daytime, and the elders have allowed me this once small moment of freedom. I don't have to be back down in the Vaults until after Valestar has set with his sister and the blood sky has appeared."

"I am well aware of that." Refillwey speaks to me as if I am stupid, but I don't listen because I know I am anything but. "Nevertheless, you have been summoned."

His choice of words sends a chill snaking down my neck. I begin to suspect the nature of Refillwey's visit, and it fills me with a cold, numbing dread. "Summoned by whom?" I ask, even though I already know the answer.

"The Prophet demands an audience, Ariassi, with you and you alone." Refillwey pauses, then adds, "I don't think it would be in your best interests to refuse."

The Prophet. There is no Miravalan treading the rubble of Ninagirsu who does not fear and venerate that name. I am no exception.

Some say the Prophet is a Miravalan, like us, who took a full dose of the deadly radiation that ravaged our world in the War in Heaven and by some divine will was not sent to the realm of the Forevertime. Her skin turned pale and her bones shriveled, until she resembled a Miravalan only in vague passing. Some say the poison mottled her brain and turned her into a speaker of nonsense which the elders felt inclined to string together into prophecy, whether out of pity or out of desperation to find some answers. Most, however, say the Prophet comes from a time before the War in Heaven, from a dark realm beyond the boundaries of Miraval and her moon Mirari, perhaps from the Forevertime itself. As the stories go, she was found near-blind from sand storms and starving in the desert, and the survivors of the War, my ancestors, nursed her back to health. In return, she predicted the opening and closing of the Scar, when the clouds would bring the rain, and even the battle strategies of our enemies.

She says we will never defeat those who dwell on the other side of the Scar, and thus far, she has not been wrong in her predictions.

There is no denying the Prophet is something more than Miravalan. She has lived longer than any member of our people. Some say she is so old that nothing is left of her save for her old body wizened to a skeleton and glowing white eyes, like insect eggs, blind to all but the dead. Atigona used to tell stories about her to frighten me into behaving properly. Turns have passed since then but the Prophet still terrifies me. Out of fear alone, I dare not refuse a summons from her.

"Very well, Refillwey. I'll go."

He just nods and beckons me back down the lookout post's ladder. He is silent as I brush past him. Even his bright eyes, yellow like mine, are shadowed and forlorn. He understands the gravity of his message, and respects the sacred duty I have in answering the Prophet's call. His deference should fill me with purpose and pride, but I feel like a youngling skipping into the razor-sharp jaws of a Teridon as I leave the perimeter wall and walk back towards the Vaults.

The Prophet does not live with the rest of Ninagirsu's children. She resides far below the blistering desert, buried deep underneath the old city. The twin lights of Valestar and Miran have not touched her since before the War in Heaven. In the Prophet's last remaining moments of lucidity, she ordered my ancestors to lock her underground. She claimed the remaining radiation from the War would destroy her already pale, emaciated body. When I was a youngling, my companions had other theories. Sandreso and Refillwey and Lorriea used to say that the Prophet could not bear to be out in the light of Valestar and Miran because the twin suns would burn her to ash and banish her back to the realm of the Forevertime. Back to where she belonged.

They said that to scare me, but as I descend further and further under the old city, into the crippling shadow where even my keen eyes are blind, I wonder if there is not a glimmer of truth in their words. The Prophet has grown in blackness, and into the blackness is where I go to join her.

When I begin to feel as though I will only ever hear my own footsteps for the rest of my life, I come upon a flicking light in the deep Vaults. There is an archway of black stone marking the entrance to the Prophet's sanctuary. The arch's reflective surface boils in the fiery torchlight, and the shadows enshroud the sanctuary in darkness. Sitting before the entrance is a tall, sallow-faced male.

He looks like a ghost. He has our people's onyx skin and cloven feet, but he is shorter than me and his limbs are delicate. His eyes are a light brown, like sandstone. He looks at me and his face morphs into one of bemusement. He does not recognize me, and he scrambles to his thin legs in alarm as I draw closer.

"Who are you?" he demands. His voice is strange, not deep like a Miravalan male's should be. He does not have the rich blood of Valestar in his veins.

I know of this creature. It was many turns ago, when I was no more than a tiny youngling, but I have fuzzy memories of a day when the elders descended into the Prophet's sanctuary in a state of great worry. When they returned to the living chambers of the upper Vaults, they brought with them a youngling, one who had wandered down where none but the Prophet dwelled.

Sandreso's family was charged with dressing him and feeding him, but unlike the rest of my birth turn, he fostered no desire to go through the Scar to fight. He refused to take up a weapon and train with Daernoq, our battalion leader. As punishment for his cowardice, the youngling was sent back down into the deep Vaults. He was charged with guarding the Prophet's sanctuary until either he or she should journey to the Forevertime. Nobody talked of the small, strange youngling again; even now it is forbidden on the pain of a lashing. Shame has stopped loose tongues. What I know I know only from rumor and here-say, and I suspect being in the dark and away from his own kind for so long has made him into the anomalous creature I see before me.

"My name is Ariassi," I tell him with caution. My deep voice echoes around the narrow corridor, making me seem much older than my 13 turns. "I have come to see the Prophet."

The youth's face softens. He cannot be much older than myself, but his eyes have the haunted look of some of the ancient elders. "Hello, Ariassi," he says politely. He has a voice like fine sand. "Yes, the Prophet asked for you. You can come in with me."

I hesitate. "I was told the Prophet wished to speak with me and me alone."

"That's true, but I always accompany one of her visitors. The Prophet is old and weak, and I am her caretaker; I must be present in case of a medical emergency."

I am surprised by his practical logic. I harbor no love for cowards, but a grudging respect begins to blossom within my chest nevertheless. I am loyal to my people. I hate none but the enemies of Ninagirsu, but I do not think this creature is an enemy. "What is _your_ name?"

"Verric," he says. He takes a torch from one of the sconces on the wall and beckons me towards the black archway. "Are you ready, Ariassi?"

"I am."

"Then follow me."

He leads me into the darkness. The room we enter is a hollow sphere, as smooth and featureless as the glass beads dotting the desert outside. The walls are black and polished smooth by the sand; our reflections stare wickedly at us from the shiny surfaces. My gaze is drawn to the center of the room, where a small, sickly figure sits on a thin blanket.

My breath hitches at my first sight of the Prophet, a sight that I am sure will haunt me in my waking nightmares.

She is not Miravalan. Of that, I am certain. She is as pale as putrid flesh; she seems to glow in the low light. Her limbs are thin and brittle. She has _five_ digits on her hands, though I cannot for the life of me imagine what the extra one is for. Her hair is white, like mine, but it hangs in stringy sheets around her face. My cloven feet freeze to the floor, but Verric gives my shoulder a squeeze and urges me to draw closer.

"She is hard of hearing," he explains.

I force myself to approach the skeletal figure. As I come within a hand's reach, the Prophet's eyes snap open. They are a deep golden brown, so beautiful and strange that I cannot look away from them. The lined face creases into a frown as she studies me. I cannot read the thoughts behind her bright eyes.

"You haven't met him yet," the ancient voice croaks. Like Verric's own, it is light and whispery.

I do not know how to answer. Verric gives a nod of encouragement and I ask shakily, "To whom do you refer, Prophet?"

The old one chuckles. "Oh, you will find out, dear. You'll find out when the time is right. That time is yet to come, but I thought it fair I should provide you with some foreknowledge. I have a message for you, Ariassi Cawdera, daughter of Atigona."

My heart thumps in my chest. The Prophet knows my secret name, my name of power. "How can . . . how do you . . .?"

"What's in a name, Ariassi Cawdera? You are the 'courageous one'. Verric's name means 'blessing of the world'. My own means 'forger of metal'. There is one more name you must learn, Ariassi, before your time of birth and rebirth comes to pass, and you embark on the journey to the Forevertime from whence you will never return."

"I don't understand."

The Prophet's ancient eyes twinkle. I see in them the evening desert under the light of the twin suns. "Your destiny is intertwined with the destiny of Miraval itself, dear. That which you do in the coming turns will affect the course of your own history in such a way that your own history will be rendered meaningless! But before you can appreciate that wisdom in full, you must first learn the name of a man, and with that knowledge take up arms for his purpose."

The words mean nothing. She speaks as though talking to a voice in her head, not to me. "What is a 'man'? How can I undo my own history? Besides which, I take up arms only in the name of Valestar, not this creature of which you speak."

"He is not a _creature_, but a person, like yourself. Don't be so parochial!"

"Sorry." I find myself apologizing for reasons I know not. "May I ask that you be more specific?"

"He is a stranger, Ariassi. A man from the stars. From out of time."

"What _is_ this creature? The only place out of time is the Forevertime. Is he a Devil?"

"Oh, I certainly hope not! He is a Time Lord. But _who _he is remains to be seen. I'm not sure anybody really knows. But you must seek him out, Ariassi. The fate of Miraval rests on the inevitability of your meeting.

"Find him, daughter of Ninagirsu. Find the Doctor. Only then, will your ravaged world finally know peace."


	3. Two for Joy

_In her dreams, she can hear a piano._

_But that is all. The caress of the wind, the beating of her heart, even the murmur of her thoughts is silent. The world is a crypt containing nothing but the souls of the dead. A permeating, never-ending bleakness settles over every surface like gray ash._

_The piano plays on._

_The corridor is long and dark. The walls stretch away into the distance to converge at an infinitely-small point in the gloom. Shadows lick her cold, bare feet as they slap upon the stone floor. There is no light, for light cannot break the veil of death. But she can see. A veiled moon, a moon with a cursed name, illuminates her pale skin until it glows white in the darkness. Her alabaster arms prickle with gooseflesh as she hurries along the infinite corridor. She ignores the cold creeping through her body, ignores the ragged intake of her breath as she runs faster . . . and faster . . . but seems to go nowhere. The corridor remains nondescript and uniform, her destination distant and unreachable, lost in the darkness._

_The piano plays on. The corridor rings with Beethoven's "Quasi una fantasia": _Moonlight_. Hidden fingers of nimble dexterity dance across ivory keys and serenade the darkness. Her heart drums to the quiet music as she hurries with her burden. In her skeletal hands she carries a man as a starving desert wanderer would carry water. _

_He is tiny and shriveled to the point of nonrecognition. His ragged clothes are a sheet of mizzenmast sail to the delicate body of a porcelain doll. Her thumbs smooth his curly hair back from his puckered brow and the flesh of her palms shelters him from the cold. He is curled up against her fingers, crying fine, crystalline tears of infinite sadness against her palm. Though the tiny droplets fall freely and sting her skin like needles of ice, his eyes remain bright blue orbs through the misting tears. They are nestled in an opaque, emaciated skull, but they shine with self-righteous fire and glisten with grief, glowing in the confined gloom of the dead world, urging her on in her pointless journey._

_"I'm hurrying," she murmurs, "I'm hurrying."_

_The piano plays on. The corridor stretches away into infinity, but she runs._

_A ghost-like figure approaches her from across the great distance. She can see _herself_ running towards her—a wraith cloaked in a thin white slip running to stare at her with wide, frightened eyes. She holds the small man against her chest and reaches out a hand to brush her speculum's face. Her reflection blinks back at her, and her palm rests instead on the mirrored face of a massive clock. The hands strike midnight, and the glass cracks at her touch._

_"There's nowhere else to run."_

_The piano plays on and the reflective surface shatters. Shards of time slice through the girl's pale hands and spatter the smooth gray corridor with blood and tears._

_She screams._


	4. Miraval

Somewhere in the infinitesimal expanses of the universe, a time machine stuck in the guise of a blue police telephone box was spinning crazily through the Time Vortex.

The ship was known as the TARDIS, which stood quite aptly for Time and Relative Dimensions in Space. Aboard the dimensionally-transcendental TARDIS, which, as its name suggested, was bigger on the inside than the outside, were two creatures. One was a human being from Earth, an entirely nondescript planet orbiting an average star in the Mutter's Spiral. Her name was Sarah Jane Smith. She was quite fond of her home, but the TARDIS's other inhabitant was of the opinion that Earth's only redeeming quality seemed to be its predilection for getting invaded. His name was, for all intents and purposes, the Doctor. He was a Time Lord from the world of Gallifrey in the constellation of Kasterberous.

Oddly enough, despite the monumental differences between the two cosmic wanderers, they were the best of friends. One of them was asleep as the TARDIS traveled through the limbo of reality that was the Time Vortex. The other had not slept in many, many nights, if night did in fact exist in the infinite space of the TARDIS, where time passed with no meaning.

The Doctor stared at the central console of his ship, deep in thought. His hands were plunged into his pewter-gray trouser pockets and his bowed head rested against his chest. His eyes were fixed on a ream of temporal coordinates scrolling across one of the monitor screens, but he wasn't paying it any attention. His thoughts were elsewhere, stretching far away in space and far backwards, and _forwards_, in time.

The Doctor, though he dressed like an eccentric bohemian straight out of a Toulouse-Lautrec painting, looked strangely at home standing before the controls of his time machine. He was so tall even his 14 foot scarf had to be wound around his neck twice to avoid trailing on the floor. With his head bowed his curly bangs fell over his forehead and obscured his wide, pale blue eyes. He had a hawkish nose and a long, froggy mouth that was pinched into a frown of concentration. Even in his tatty waistcoat and threadbare trousers, in his somber mood he cut something of an imposing figure.

The Time Lord was thinking about immortality. He was thinking about the way the repercussions of a decision seemed to ripple through time and give eternal life to an otherwise instantaneous occurrence. In his musings he pondered the possible futures that stemmed from the consequences of a single choice. The many directions of one life were winding and uncertain, plagued by circumstances out of individual control, all hinging on the smallest of decisions.

The Doctor knew that unfortunate and humbling truth better than most. Even Time Lords could not make right all the wrongs of the universe, control the chaos of belligerent free choice. Very often his people did just the opposite and ignored the many hordes that hounded the darker places of the universe. The best _he_, the Doctor,could do was leave a legacy, and hope it lasted to make a difference.

The Doctor fingered the well-worn wool of his scarf, and for a moment, his fingers ghosted over soft velvet. He considered the repercussions that dripped from his memories like honey from a comb. He knew each stage of his life was a continuation of the same man, the same soul shaped by experience and molded by both bitterness and exquisite joy. He was a culmination of his memories, a sum of his parts. In a sense, the shared essence within the Doctor was immortal. Each part of him died, but his soul lived on. Growing older, accumulating regret, missing those confined to a single time and place.

When the Doctor, on a wild impulse, piled himself and his granddaughter Susan into an old Type 40 TARDIS and took his leave of Gallifrey, he had never planned the adventure to go on for as long as it had. With his great age came great gratitude for the ability to explore and appreciate the universe, but it left very few to thank.

The Doctor sighed, his hearts growing heavier. His life was a very long, very drawn-out stage play. As his time progressed and the scenes of his life opened and closed, the players left one by one until each exchange of dialogue became his own soliloquy. The players became culminations of himself rather than the company of friends. In the end, the Doctor was a dramatist soliloquizing his loneliness to an absent audience, strutting and fretting his hour upon the stage.

"I'm making myself feel old," murmured the Doctor as he yanked himself out of his reverie. "Sarah would never allow such self-deprecating talk."

The thought made him grin ever so slightly. The last time the Doctor had found himself in such a mood of cosmic angst, young Sarah Jane Smith had mocked him.

"Oh, I _know_ you're a Time Lord!" she had sighed, pulling a cowl over her head and pulling a face when she thought his back was turned. The Doctor had seen her from over his shoulder.

"What would I be without her, hmm?" he mused.

Sarah Jane, like so many others before her, had the paradoxical ability to make him feel not a year over 200 while forcing him to acknowledge the fickle nature of time. The lives of his companions were so fleeting. Every instance he found Sarah tied up, hypnotized, unconscious, blinded . . . he was reminded of her precious mortality. The Doctor's soul may have ghosted eternity, but Sarah Jane had only one life. He couldn't give her forever, no matter how hard he tried. In fact, sometimes he felt as though he were taking her one life away from her all-the-faster. She had a career back on Earth, a home, friends, and most importantly, a future.

But the Doctor couldn't bear to be parted from her, and perhaps it was selfish of him, but he hoped the TARDIS would continue to avoid South Croyden. He wanted his adventures with Sarah to last forever. He wanted their time together to stay as immortal as he was.

It didn't take the wisdom of a Time Lord to understand that his was the impossible dream of an old man.

"You would never believe the impossible dream I just had!"

The Doctor's brows arched in surprise. He looked up to see Sarah Jane standing in the doorway of the console room. She was a slim young woman, a good few heads shorter than the Doctor, with a tidy mop of brown hair just beginning to curl at the edges. She had wide, innocent eyes that hardened like flint whenever her formidable powers of deduction, investigation, and sheer tenacity were put to use. Though still uncommonly pretty, she looked slightly worse for wear in her nightie, wiping sleep out of her bleary eyes.

The Doctor's stared at her for a while before it occurred to him that something was amiss about his young companion. He swallowed nervously and went as white as a sheet when he saw that Sarah's hands had left a halo of coppery red around her eyes.

"What happened to you?" he asked.

She gave him a funny look. "Eh?"

"Your . . . face. Your _hands_."

Sarah looked very concerned. "What about my face? Have I been drooling?"

The Doctor shook his head and intoned solemnly, "It's more serious than that, I'm afraid. Take a look."

He removed a compact mirror from his pocket and held it out to Sarah. Still bemused, she took the proffered mirror . . . and froze when she saw her palms.

The compact fell out of her hands and exploded across the floor. The shards of glass and plastic glinted dangerously in the industrial lighting of the console room, but Sarah didn't think to clean it up. She held her hands out in front of her face, disbelief melting away as horror bloomed across her features.

Her palms were covered in blood. There was no pain, no sign of physical injury, but the red mess was unmistakably blood. It oozed between her fingers and spattered onto the floor, marring the perfectly white surface. It was wet and it was sticky and Sarah Jane had no idea whose it was, even though she suspected she knew where it had come from.

"Sarah. Sarah Jane, don't panic. Don't panic." The Doctor took a few steps forward and held her shoulders. He could feel them quivering from the shock.

Sarah was trying with every ounce of her strength to choke down the scream rising in her throat. "My dream. Oh my God, it's just like my dream. My hands . . . the clock . . ."

"Tell me," demanded the Doctor. He handed her a hankie to wipe her hands.

Sarah described her dream slowly, panic still sticking the words in her mouth. The details were crystal clear, which was weird in of itself. Sarah took the time to elaborate, describing in full the sound of the piano and the hopelessly long stretch of corridor, but left out the part about the small man in her hands. She didn't know why. All the while, she wiped the blood away with the hankie, smacking it off her palms with revulsion. The Doctor was reminded of Queen Macbeth. He brushed the disturbing thought away hurriedly.

"A massive clock, you say?"

"Yes," Sarah affirmed. "Huge, blocking the entire corridor. The reflection created a sort of infinity effect. The person I could see running towards me was my mirror image in the face of the clock."

The Doctor's eyes went wide and he stared at the empty space over Sarah Jane's right shoulder, whenever he did when he was working something out in his mind. "It's possible . . . it's very possible."

"What is?" asked Sarah, curious as ever. Wiping the blood away had allowed her heart to slow down and the horror to dissipate. She wasn't one to stay scared for very long.

"It's just possible that you encountered a physical manifestation of a time distortion. If there was a dimensional instability in the mathematical modeling of the TARDIS, you may have been dreaming of cutting your hands on the face of a clock because it was an unconscious simulacrum of an actual injury in a parallel timeline that just so happened to bleed through—"

"That is a _terrible_ choice of words, Doctor," muttered Sarah.

"—and affect that which did not directly occur due to the original injury being inflicted in the first place. Or something like that."

"I understood about half of that," she said, "and the rest of it sounded like complete balderdash anyway."

The Doctor ignored her. "Which is entirely impossible of course."

"Of course!"

"Because a dimensional instability strong enough to invoke a physical flip-flop of timelines would have caused a critical timing malfunction and forced the TARDIS into an emergency landing, and that hasn't happened."

Sarah yelped as the TARDIS bucked and tossed her against the console. The Doctor pressed buttons furiously, grim determination stapled on his face. The lights flickered and an unhealthy grating resounded from deep within the ship. Far away, the cloister bell began to toll. The time rotor began to rise and fall, and after a chaotic few moments Sarah could hear the unmistakable sound of the time ship materializing.

"You had to say something, didn't you?" Sarah said scathingly as she struggled to hold herself upright. The TARDIS let out an elephantine groaning that sounded uncomfortably like an animal in pain. "I swear, every time you open your mouth for reassurance something horrible happens to us."

The Doctor brushed away a puff of smoke as a control panel caught fire in his face. "Oh, empirical poppycock and utter codswallop, Sarah Jane. What's a little dimensional mishap between friends, eh?"

"Some dimensional mishap! There was _blood_ on my _hands_. And now we're hurtling through space and time at God-knows-what miles an hour to the place where your little 'dimensional mishap' is supposed to have originated!"

"Yes. Exciting, isn't it?"

"You're insufferable, you know that?"

"Most likely."

Sarah looked heavenward and held on tight as the ship landed with a rough jolt. "I give up."

The TARDIS was plunged into darkness. Red strips illuminated the floor panels and cast the control room in deep, fluid shadow.

"Emergency lighting," said the Doctor. He snatched his battered soft hat and gray coat from the hatstand. "Time to go, I think."

Sarah looked appalled. "We haven't the faintest idea where, or _when_, we are!"

"True. But the TARDIS is hardly likely to tell us, now is she? What better why to find out then to pop our heads outside for a spell?"

Sarah could think of several better alternatives, all of which avoided the possibility of getting killed in a variety of weird and unusual ways, but she knew there was no stopping the Doctor once he became fixated on a plan. She shrugged her shoulders and grudgingly pressed the door control. The TARDIS doors creaked open and a waft of hot air blasted the Doctor in the face.

"A desert! We've landed in a desert!" he cried delightedly. He was out of the TARDIS like a shot.

"Wait for me!" called Sarah, but the Doctor was already gone. "Oh, why do I bother?"

She took one more look at the glass and the constellations of dried blood on the floor, and decided she would clean it up later. Sarah stepped carefully around the mess and leaned through the open doorway.

She felt as though she had voluntarily stuck her head into an oven. Sarah congratulated herself on putting slippers on before coming to the console room, for the sand spilling across the TARDIS threshold must have been hot enough to sear the skin off her toes. The Doctor had galloped away into the distance, seemingly unaffected by the heat. His tall frame and long, billowing scarf were silhouetted black against the golden dunes. They could have landed in the Nairobi desert back on Earth, save for the light purple sky and the two suns. The higher sun was the largest Sarah had ever seen and burned a bright, sulfurous yellow, whereas the smaller, lower sun was the color of a satsuma.

"Not Earth, evidently," Sarah Jane said to herself. Despite being a good three hundred yards away, the Doctor heard her.

"I don't recognize the suns!" he called. His deep voice was muffled by the sand and didn't carry well in the still, oppressive air. "Binary systems are among the most common in the universe. We could be anywhere."

"Well, it's bloomin' hot," huffed Sarah. "And I'm certainly not about to go traipsing off to kingdom come with you wearing nothing but my nightie and a pair of wooly slippers. I'm going to change."

The Doctor wasn't listening. "Eh?"

"I said, I'm going to change!" Without waiting to see if the Doctor had heard her, Sarah turned on her heel and went back into the TARDIS, closing the door behind her harder than was probably necessary.

The Doctor payed Sarah Jane no notice. He turned away from the TARDIS and set about exploring the strange new world. He wandered away from their landing spot and began to climb the closest sand dune, though he made an effort to keep the bright blue outline of the TARDIS within sight. It wouldn't do to have Sarah wandering hither and thither trying to look for him and getting herself into trouble, as she invariably did.

Satisfied that he was leaving a trail of footprints, the Doctor trod carefully up the banks of blistering sand, careful not to get too much of it in his scuffed shoes. The planet was a little too warm for his liking, and each intake of breath sent grit snaking down his throat, but the scenery reminded him of Gallifrey in an offbeat way. The color of the landscape was similar, though what the planet lacked in silvery trees and orange grass it made up for in piles and piles of fine, powdery sand. It was certainly a very beautiful world, though any life would have had to be extremely hardy to survive.

"I can't imagine it raining here very often. Not a cloud in the sky. Everything is just so still," said the Doctor.

He didn't have much difficulty reaching the top of the dune. The view was simply stunning. The golden desert stretched out for hundreds of miles in all directions. The horizon of purple mountains seemed very distant, so the planet must have been a big one. If he concentrated against the glare and swimming heat mirages, the Doctor could just make out the silvery glimmer of sunlight reflecting off a metallic construct.

"A city?" he mused. "Perhaps there _is_ life here. I'll get a better look up at the very top, won't I?"

He began to climb higher, but something unnamable caused him to stop in his tracks just before the summit. A small breeze broke the thick, still air and ruffled the Doctor's mop of curly hair. All color suddenly seemed to seep out of the bright world, and an electric tension made the tassels on the end of the Doctor's scarf stand on end. Even in the heat, his skin ran rugged with gooseflesh.

"Something isn't right."

Suddenly, the open space hanging in front of the Doctor split open like a scabrous wound. A huge, jagged scar tore the air apart and blasted a wall of wind that slammed into the Time Lord and sent him rolling back down the dune. Lightning licked the edges of the split, which seemed to form the entrance to a massive black tunnel suspended in the air.

"A temporal rift!"

A freight train howl emanated from the rift and the Doctor clapped his hands over his ears in agony. Sand was blowing into his eyes, but the Doctor could just manage to discern the faint, ghostly outlines of creatures coming _through_ the rift, traversing the tunnel and emerging at the summit of the dune. Before long, a small army had gathered in front of the jagged scar. The heavyset men and women were armed with nothing more than clubs and spears, but the hatred burning in their yellow eyes was enough to send a thrill of wariness racing down the Doctor's spine.

He had little time to observe them before a hail of plasma bolts soared over the Doctor's head and incinerated the first line of warriors. The Doctor turned in horror to find that _another_ army had gathered at the dune's base, not too far away from the TARDIS. But the new army was bigger than the one from the rift. Their weapons were more advanced and their bodies were clad from head to hoof in thick, golden armor. It was going to be a massacre, and the Doctor was caught in the center of the battle!

"Sarah!" He bellowed, "Don't leave the TARDIS! Don't leave the—"

The Doctor was cut off as both armies broke formation and rushed each other. The cries of bloodlust and fury and fear deafened him as he tried to scramble to his feet and get out of the way. Armed soldiers surrounded him on all sides, some dressed entirely in gleaming armor, others wearing nothing more than rags, but both evidently of the same species. Screams died in the still desert air as row after row of men and women were mowed down by blazing plasma discharges. Very few of the armored warriors sustained even minor injuries.

Suddenly, a terrified soldier broke from the fray and went barreling straight into the Doctor. Both went down in a tangle of arms and legs. They slid down the fine sand of the dune and into the melee of warring men and bloodied weapons. The soldier shrieked as one of the ragged men from the spacetime rift caved his skull in with the knob of his club. His scream died in his throat.

The Doctor didn't have time to look appalled. He could only cover his head as the frenzied phalanxes rushed over his prone body to meet their enemy. He tried to avoid being trampled under hundreds of cloven feet, until one well-placed hoof crashed against the side of the Doctor's skull. He collapsed to the sand, and did not move again.


	5. Three for a Girl

From _The Miravalan Suns_

"The Scar: Weapon, Abomination, or Enemy of the Myopic?"

by Drunos Tyrgurian

_. . . the Scar is Miraval's last great unknown . . . the conspiracy theories are rife and the speculation knows no end. General Terosius of the Miravalan 1st Battalion has released a statement affirming a longstanding public suspicion that the Scar is a new weapon being implemented by the desert militias. General Terosius believes the Scar is a manner of "trans-spacio pathway" that allows armed hostile forced situated around Miraval to converge on Ninagirsu in a "panzer attack formation" with the sole intention being the "total destruction of the peaceful [Miravalan] people."_

_. . . the major criticism of General Terosius's view focuses on the militiamen themselves. The stark strategic ineptness of the desert "savages" greatly contrasts to their apparent technological prowess. Professor Atio Poleronius of the Ninagirsu Institute for the Advancement of Deep Thought has argued that a hostile military force capable of producing a microcosmic "wormhole" would possess materials far in advance of known Ninagirsun technology. _

_Obvious questions arise: how have General Terosius' forces been consistently able to hold off the militias' unprovoked attacks? Why haven't the savages utilized their more advanced technology to utterly obliterate the Miravalan battalions? Footage of the conflicts is of course forbidden by High Ministry decree, so the public must rely on speculation to find the answers, if any answers do, in fact, exist._

_High Minister and Praetor of the Ministerial Senate Lei Renwood has declined to comment, but a spokesperson for the High Ministry of the Twin Stars has denounced [the Scar] as an "unholy manifestation of the darkest and most abominable blasphemies." Members of the Ministerial Senate have put forth the proposition that the Scar is a physical gateway to the realm of the Forevertime, and that the members of the desert militias are in fact angry spirits summoned from the Forevertime by Miran, the Enchantress, to "seek vengeance against the goodwill and kindness bestowed upon them by the children of Valestar."_

_However, Ministry officials praise General Terosius' peaceful means of thwarting the attacks, claiming that "no lives" have been lost in the recent skirmishes. I would propose the Ministry to make the same claim before the families of missing Sergeants Ryuno and Iretuwa, who never returned from the latest skirmish a quarter of a turn ago . . ._

_While General Terosius' high-strung theories of paranoia are certainly more logic-based than the myopic decrees of the Ministerial Senate . . . the similarity lies in that both of Ninagirsu's major governing bodies view the Scar as a threat. By extension, is all that is unknown also a threat? Where does the ambiguity and secrecy end? _

_The next opening of the Scar will occur in fifty microturns. Perhaps then the people of Ninagirsu will have their answers._

Drunos Tyrgurian is unavailable for comment due to a sudden and inexplicable disappearance.


	6. Absolution

Sarah Jane Smith remembered meeting Stanley Karnow on one of her misadventures with her first Doctor, the rakish, debonaire one with the opera cloak and the gorgeously craggy face. The year had been 1959, and Karnow was in Vietnam reporting on the deaths of the first Americans killed in the conflict. To Sarah, it was paramount to meeting a storybook hero.

During an age of naïveté, when facts tended to get buried beneath piles of political palaver, Karnow had written about Vietnam from the soldiers' perspective. He captured the raw emotion and the brutality of battle in a way the common people could both appreciate and abominate. Sarah venerated journalism that spoke an otherwise unspoken truth, and Karnow had the loudest voice of anyone she knew.

As much as she had anticipated the occasion, her meeting with Karnow didn't exactly go as planned. He had been possessed by aliens at the time. The Doctor eventually sorted it out, as he always did. The aliens were banished from the planet Earth and Karnow and his fellow journalists were left unharmed. Sarah didn't have much of an opportunity to speak to Karnow in the aftermath, but something about the man had stayed with her from their brief encounter.

As Sarah recalled, Stanley Karnow's eyes had been . . . hollow. She had looked long and hard into them and had seen nothing inside. They were filled with darkness. Karnow had the haunted look of a man who had seen horrors which he couldn't begin to reconcile with his conscience.

The sight had not been an entirely unfamiliar one, for Sarah recalled a few occasions when the Doctor's own bright blue stare had bled away to reveal the same emptiness inside . . . when Managra tortured him with memories of the Blood Countess, or when Sutekh took control of his mind in Professor Scarmen's old priory. Sarah sympathized with the magnitude of their pain, but she never thought her own eyes would drown in the same emptiness. She never imagined she would live to see horrors comparable to those of the Vietnam War, or to the bloody rampage of Elizabeth Báthory.

She was wrong.

Sarah was digging through one of the TARDIS's cupboards for a pair of desert-friendly boots when she was suddenly thrown off balance. The ship tilted violently as if something had shoved it carelessly to the side. She yelped as she lost her footing and knocked her forehead against one of the roundled walls. Through the ringing in her head, Sarah heard a chorus of ear-splitting battle cries followed by the sound of brutal savagery, of weapons being unsheathed and guns fired. Fear constricted her throat as the screams of dying men drifted through the TARDIS.

There was a battle being fought just outside the ship. Dropping her clothes, Sarah Jane sprinted back to the console room. Her mind went eerily blank save for her desperation to reach the door.

She didn't entirely understand the bond the Doctor shared with his TARDIS or how he was able to communicate with the ship, but somehow, when Sarah reached the console room, she heard the Doctor call her name. In a panic, she yanked down on the door control. The cloister bell tolled once, but the TARDIS didn't allow her to leave, whether due to a malfunction caused by the temporal distortion or some subconscious awareness of the danger outside. Sarah choked down tears of frustration as she tried to pry open the doors with her bare hands. They would not budge.

"The Doctor's out there!" she protested. "I have to help him!"

The TARDIS was inexorable. Wherever the Doctor was, Sarah realized despairingly, he was on his own.

Time inched forward at the speed of a glacier. Sarah paced, all while chewing her nails down to the quick. The TARDIS could have kept her locked in from a few minutes to a few hours. In her blind worry, the passing seconds became immaterial.

After an impossibly long time, she heard the last choked wail resound from outside and the battle died down to a deep, heavy silence. Sarah flicked the door lever so hard it should have gone flying off the console. As the doors creaked open, she rushed forward to drag the Doctor back into the TARDIS . . . but froze on the threshold.

Her knuckles whitened around the doorframe in an effort to hold herself upright. Each desolate moan of desert wind seemed powerful enough to knock her to her knees. It took every fibre of reason to convince herself that she hadn't been plunged back into her nightmare with the endless corridors and the blood. The same blind sense of hopelessness had returned in full force. Suddenly, Sarah knew what desolation was enough to empty the eyes of those like Stanley Karnow and the Doctor.

The blackened desert around the TARDIS was littered with charred, ashy corpses.

Sarah's rationale faded to a background buzz. She didn't consider that she was only half-dressed in a cotton slip and a bathrobe. She didn't consider that she was still in her slippers. She slammed the TARDIS doors shut and ran into the desert. She ignored the scorching sand and blazing double suns as she searched for someone she prayed she wouldn't find amongst the carnage.

Her eyes were not as entirely empty as Stanley Karnow's had been. They were filled with terrified tears.

"Doctor!" she called, "DOCTOR!"

She crouched beside a few of the bodies. Their blackened skin was pulled tight over large, burnt bones. The only things left recognizable in their heavyset skulls were their teeth — still white and bared in a rictus grin of terror. Their canines were pointed like a vampire's. The flesh under their skin was puckered pink and steaming in the heat. Nothing was left of their eyes besides empty holes filled with golden sand. Each three-fingered hand was still clasping a smoldering cinder which must have once been a spear or a pike; they hadn't even been allowed the opportunity to surrender before they were butchered.

"Doctor?" Sarah whispered, "Doctor, where are you?"

She crept between the bodies and meandered across the desert. The sun seemed to hammer her into the sand. Beads of pearly sweat broke out on her brow, but she clutched her bathrobe around her shoulders as if to ward off a chill. The suns fried the top of her head; she imagined her short brown hair crisping in the heat like tinder. Sarah threw up the hood of her bathrobe. The shade on her face was, at least, some small comfort.

Sarah stuck her toes further into her slippers and began to climb the closest dune, hoping to get a better view of the battlefield from the top. The climb was a difficult one. The sand was fine enough to give way under her feet and the smell of decay and burnt meat was nauseating. As she ascended, Sarah maneuvered around the slighter, thinner bodies littering the side of the slope, the smaller ones who had tried to run and had been mowed down in the process. There was a stab of pity in Sarah's heart for the cowards. They should have been the ones to survive. In shame, but alive nevertheless.

Despite the oppressive heat, the day was growing old. The two behemoths hanging in the sky were just beginning their descent towards the wall of purple mountains lining the distant horizon. Sarah hastened her climb up the dune, wary of the encroaching dusk. She didn't relish the prospect of losing sight of the TARDIS and being left to navigate through the fields of bodies in the dark. The thought of those dead, empty sockets tracking her in the shadows made her shiver, despite the heat.

"No," Sarah decided, trying to banish her irrational fear. "I won't leave, not until I find the Doctor. I'll search all night if I have to! One way or another . . . I'll bring him home."

Her legs were sore, her head swam with vertigo, and her feet felt like lumps of molten rock when she reached the summit. Heat simmered off the surface of the desert below her and the sky was the sickly-sweet color of lilacs. The spread of bodies and dead machines were an ugly stain on the golden sand. The TARDIS was a tiny prismatic speck far below; a blue oasis in the empty, monotonous landscape.

Sarah was tired and growing progressively more dizzy from trying to make sense of the heat mirages in the distance. She felt sick with exhaustion and heartache. Any hope of finding her friend alive was fast diminishing with the setting of the planet's two suns.

_A part of me doesn't want to find him, though_, thought Sarah, her eyes watering from what she told herself were the sheets of grit hanging in the air.

"Doctor!" She cried out desperately. She cupped her hands together and bellowed as loudly as her hoarse throat would allow, "DOCTOR!"

The air was still and the dead stayed dead. Sarah's only answer was a deep, permeating silence. Her voice didn't even carry an echo.

"Oh, Doctor . . ."

Sarah stood on the summit, numb with disbelief, as the two suns began to set. Her skin was sunburnt and the tears felt good on her scorched cheeks, but Sarah swatted them away angrily. She wouldn't allow herself the release, and she wouldn't find the Doctor by weeping.

She took a step to wander down the other side of the dune when her foot snagged in the sand. Sarah tripped over her own legs and landed heavily in the sand. Annoyed for behaving like an overwrought damsel, Sarah brushed herself off and grabbed the detritus that had caught her foot. Her fingers wound around strand of cord.

"Something like a gladiator's net, perhaps?" she mused.

Sarah pulled it out of the sand and stared at it uncomprehendingly. It was long, thick with dirt, and hardened by the hot air. It was charred and nearly unrecognizable; Sarah's touch sent a stream of multicolored, woolen ash trickling into the sand.

The burnt remnants of the Doctor's scarf brought a sense of absolution to Sarah Jane. There was no longer any doubt in her mind that her friend was dead.

She hadn't been entirely sure a Time Lord _could_ die in the first place. Even after his regeneration, and despite mistaking him for dead every other adventure, the possibility that one day the Doctor would never reopen those great blue eyes again was always something Sarah refused to think about at great length for fear of working herself into a state of despair. He had been one of her universal constants, like her journalism deadlines and smiling and her own mortality.

But the Doctor had taught her that the universe was always in flux, that the events of history were constantly shifting as patterns emerged, times changed, and people died. Sarah took some small comfort in the knowledge of the Doctor's fate; he would live on in her memories with her parents and Andrea Yates and her old cat Mogs. Sarah's love for the Doctor was immortal in its own right, but she knew she would miss him terribly.

Sarah curled the scarf into a tight spiral and laid it back down on the ground. She scrawled a few words in the sand with her index finger.

_Here lies a man who was better than he ever realized, loved by more than he ever knew._

It was sentimental and ultimately didn't do the Doctor enough credit, but it seemed like the right thing to do.

Sarah stood and watched the slight desert breeze obscure her words. The air twinkled as the rays of the suns caught the floating curtain of sand and dust motes.

"Thanks for the adventure. And the laughs," she murmured. She cleared her throat, trying to disgorge the lump that sat there. "Goodbye isn't forever, you know. It's just a pause. We'll meet again some day, when time comes to its final stop and everyone finds their absolution in the beautiful eternity that waits for us beyond this short, bright life. But in the meantime, while there is memory enough to spare, I will never forget you."

* * *

Captain Vondell did not know what to think, which was unusual, since Aggair Vondell seemed to spend a majority of his time thinking and planning and scheming. No decision of his was made without considerable calculation and adherence to logic. Somehow, shooting the small creature huddled at the top of the sand dune didn't strike him as the most logical course of action.

The lone survivor of the Scar skirmish was centered in his eyepiece. His long, triple-jointed finger was rigid around the trigger of his plasma rifle. His soldiers looked at him expectantly, only surprised by the fact he hadn't fired his rifle sooner. If there was one Miravalan utterly devoted to the orders of General Terosius and the spirit of the Great Valestar, it was Aggair Vondell. The Captain's hesitation was unprecedented.

"Why do you wait, sir?" asked one of his braver lieutenants.

Vondell's bright yellow eyes never left his eyepiece. His mind raced as he considered his quarry. It was not yet aware of their presence; a kill should have been an easy and methodical matter of protocol. It was standard procedure: no mercy, no survivors. Except . . . the situation had become anything but standard.

"That creature is not Miravalan," said Vondell icily. His deep voice did not waver, his clinical stoicism did not crack.

The soldiers, on the other hand, were astounded. "Not Miravalan! There's nothing else it could be!"

"Do you doubt me?"

There was a ominous silence during which no Miravalan dared to speak. Despite his dispassion, Vondell radiated the most powerful aura of fear of anyone in Ninagirsu.

Satisfied he had squelched any belligerents, Vondell continued, "The creature is small and sickly. It is as pale as my plasma rifle and has eyes the color of the sandstone mountains. I have never seen anything like it."

Vondell's gaze was fixed down the eyepiece of his gun, so he did not see the amused glances exchanged by his soldiers. Aggair Vondell was a terrifying presence, but he had a renowned habit for regressing into poetics. His soldiers found it amusing, though they would rather join the savages in General Terosius's systematic butchery than say it aloud.

The same brave lieutenant asked, "Is the creature of Valestar or Miran?"

"I am unable to ascertain a gender from this distance. It is wearing some manner of hood or cloak. Even through the eyepiece, the creature appears androgynous; the body structure would suggest female but her hair is dark, like a male's. Going by her pale skin, this may in fact be the first case of albinism to appear in the savages."

Vondell's soldiers sneered. "They are desperate enough to send their sickly and misshapen through the Scar! They hide behind freaks!"

"Perhaps," murmured Vondell. He had never much cared for the Miravalan obsession with racial purity. He thought it rather vulgar. Vondell holstered his weapon and ignored the wide-eyed looks of surprise. "The creature must be captured and taken for a full interrogation. We can learn much from a sentient lifeform different from the Miravalan mean."

"But sir," the young lieutenant protested, "our orders are to take no prisoners. You can't just bring a diseased creature into Ninagirsu!"

Vondell's yellow eyes glinted. "Care to elaborate, Lieutenant?"

"With all due respect sir, all I'm saying is that creature poses a clear health hazard—"

The Captain's face was expressionless as he redrew his rifle and blasted the lieutenant into a smoldering pile of ash. The young Miravalan didn't even have time to scream. The rest of Vondell's battalion was silent. They felt no pity; the insubordinate soldier had been asking for Vondell's wrath.

"Some would say I have a propensity for rhetorical questions. That being said, would anyone else care to voice their opinion?" asked Vondell cooly. Nobody met his eyes. "Very well. Sergeant Fuyi, Lieutenant Boperin, please restrain that creature and bring it to me. Any injury done to it I will immediately reciprocate to each of you tenfold. Is that understood?"

"Yessir."

The two soldiers hefted their rifles, which were set to low tranquilizing power, and ran across the dunes on their cloven feet. Even in full battle armor they were very graceful, hovering over the sand like two snowshoers across ice. Vondell watched them go. His expression, as always, was impossible to read, but he wondered what manner of creature the savages had sent out of the Scar to face them . . . and if it posed a danger.

* * *

_Sarah's last memory was of a shadow falling over the Doctor's small memorial. Her last thought was how welcome the new shade was . . .  
_  
The creature leaning over her had the parody of a human face. He, at least Sarah assumed _he_ was in fact a _he_, had high cheekbones buried under glossy skin the color of obsidian. His black hair, which seemed to grow right out of the flesh of his skull, was pulled into a tight ponytail. He didn't have a nose in the traditional sense, just a jutting protrusion that resembled a nasal bone with two vertical slits for nostrils. His eyes were bright yellow and ovoid, like a cat's. He began to talk, and Sarah didn't hear his words through the shock of seeing that his white canines were sharpened to fine points.

"I–I beg your pardon?" slurred Sarah. Her head was too fuzzy for outright panic.

"I said," reiterated the creature, his voice fruity and resonant, "please indicate you understand what I am saying."

Sarah squinted. As the creature's face shifted into better focus and it became terrifyingly clear that she wasn't becoming delusional from the desert heat, her heart began to thud. She tried to sit up and scramble away from the markedly alien face, but something held her down. Her arms and legs were bound with strong silver cord and she lay trapped between the hoofed feet of several of the creatures. Her head was being propped up by one of them. Glancing to the side, Sarah saw that their hands were narrow and bony, topped by three digits with far too many knuckles. She opened her mouth to scream . . .

The creature seemed to sense her panic and ordered his companions to ease her into a more comfortable sitting position.

"Please remain calm. If I intended you harm, you would be dead."

His voice was undeniably firm, but like the Doctor's own, had a soothing quality to it.

_The Doctor. The Doctor is dead_, Sarah remembered. _These creatures _. . ._ they look like the bodies _. . .

"Who are you?" Sarah asked shakily, "_What_ are you? And where are you taking me?"

The corner of the creature's mouth twitched thoughtfully. "You demonstrate a remarkable grasp of the Miravalan language. We had always assumed the savages to be illiterate and mute, to communicate by other, more primordial means."

Sarah slowly picked through his words. "You're . . . Miravalan? Is that a species?"

"I am one of the children of Valestar, a male Miravalan. And you, evidently, are not."

"No. I'm human."

"I do not know what that is."

Sarah didn't know how to better elaborate, so she didn't bother. She doubted the alien would know of Earth. "Did you kill the Doctor?"

"If he was involved in the Scar skirmish, then it is very likely. Was he a companion of yours?"

Sarah could have said a lot of things then. "He was my friend."

The creature didn't look at all sympathetic. "It is unwise to form friendships in war. Each life is too fleeting for such a nicety. Did your companion have a proper name?"

Sarah was too heartsick and too queasy to be angry. She sighed, "Probably. He never told me, really . . ."

Her captor did not seem bemused by her ambiguous answer. Whoever and whatever he was, he was very grounded in his mannerisms. "Do _you_ have a name?"

"My name is Sarah Jane Smith."

"And my name is Aggair Vondell, _Mir _Smith. I am the Captain of Miraval's 1st Battalion and the personal envoy of High Minister Renwood."

It sounded impressive, but Aggair Vondell's words meant nothing to Sarah. "Alright then, Aggair Vondell. Where are you taking me? And if you killed the Doctor, why haven't you killed me?"

Captain Vondell blinked his bright yellow eyes at her. Sarah realized that it had gone dark, and his eyes were _glowing_. "We are not savages, unlike the company you keep, _Mir _Smith. I am taking you back to Ninagirsu for a full military interrogation, trial, and execution."

Sarah's eyes bugged. "For _what?!_"

"We are not savages, but we are at war, _Mir_ Smith. I will honor the holy purpose of General Terosius and the High Ministry of the Two Suns. I have not killed you yet because you are different, and your difference presents a unique learning opportunity to the people of Ninagirsu. But because I have not killed you now does not mean I will not do so in the near future. The desert savages are a danger to the legacy of Valestar, to the City of Glass and its people."

"That's horrible!" exclaimed Sarah. "You murdered _hundreds_ of people, including my friend, because of this Valestar chap? What is he? Some sort of god?"

"He is our Lord. Our Creator."

Sarah snorted in derision. "Fantastic. You're no better than a bunch of jihadists, killing in a war you probably don't even know the reason for anymore!"

Captain Vondell struck her hard across the face. Sarah's bonds were the only things that kept her from striking him back.

"You are indeed unfortunate, _Mir _Smith," said Vondell, "my superiors in the City of Glass will not be so forgiving of your insolence."

"Are they all as brutal and unfeeling as you?" Sarah asked angrily.

"No.

"They are much, much worse."


	7. Four for a Boy

_"My child, what are you doing?"_

_"I am looking at a book, Mother."_

_"But you cannot read. Why are you looking at a storybook if you cannot read?"_

_"I do not read the words. I simply see them, and seeing them allows me to understand."_

_"What is there to understand in words that hold no meaning for you? They are but symbols, empty shapes and squiggles arranged into groups."_

_"I do not understand the words themselves, Mother, but I understand their purpose. So long as I can see the words, I know that another world exists behind them. The words are like a gateway. I stand at the bars looking into a world of color and life, but I cannot go in because I do not have the key. But . . . I would still rather look into the gated world than never know the gated world exists at all."_

_"Does looking inside make you sad, my son?"_

_"It makes me wonderfully sad. The words give my life meaning in other ways, for now I know that since such a beautiful world exists behind the words, one day I can hope to open the gateway myself. The books give me purpose."_

_"I have opened the gateways behind many words, explored the worlds of many books. They are not all as beautiful as your fantasies."_

_"It is the mystery that is beautiful. Sadness and happiness come from attempting to solve the mystery. And happiness is nothing unless it exists side by side with sadness. Can you help me forge a key, Mother?"_

_"Oh, the words have been lost to me for many ages, my son. The stories are now my memories. They are as much as part of me as you are. I have no need for keys anymore."_

_"Then . . . would you tell me a story, Mother?"_

_"Yes. Of course I will. But the story in my mind is a sad one. Perhaps you can find some of the happiness within it."_

_"I will try."_

_"Very well. A long time ago, before the first words were ever written, there lived two great friends. Their names were Menina and Soran. Their friendship was indescribable because no words existed for a bond so powerful; it was one that transcended even love. Being apart from one another was tantamount to losing a portion of themselves. They sought their souls in the essence of the other. Their adoration was all-consuming, so eventually it consumed itself. Soran, in his devotion, soon forgot all else. He withered and grew gravely sick. Over time he began to understand that he would soon pass on to the next world, and so he made Menina a promise. 'When I go,' Soran said, 'I will send you a message telling you about the next world. I will not abandon you. We shall never be truly apart, because while you cannot follow me, at least you will know where I wander.'"_

_"Like the words of the storybooks I cannot read. Soran sought to comfort Menina through potential, not through certainty."_

_"Yes, but allow me to finish. After Soran passed on to the next world, Menina was heartbroken. She grieved, but she did not give in to despair, for her friend had promised not to abandon her. Eventually, after many months, a white bird with Soran's blue eyes alighted on Menina's outstretched palm and told her, 'I have seen the other world beyond the mortal one, and there is beauty beyond anything you can imagine. The air is clean and smells of peppermint and tea. The grass is greener than the emeralds of your eyes. The sky is the most magnificent blue. Everyone here is happy, and their love for one another is as powerful as our love for each other.' Menina felt a stab of longing for her dear companion. She wished more than anything to join Soran in the next world. So one gray morning she drank poison with her water, and lay down beside her friend in his burial chamber. Menina passed from her mortal life forever."_

_"And were they happy together in the next world, Mother? Please tell me they were."_

_"Alas, child, you have forgotten your own wisdom. Happiness is nothing without sadness. Soran and Menina were together again, yes, but the next world was a realm of infinite darkness. There was no sound, no light, and no meaning. The emptiness stretched on to eternity. Soran had sent the message to Menina because he was lonely in death, and did not want to spend it alone."_

_"That truly is a very sad story. Why would you tell me one so full of sorrow?"_

_"Because, my dear, sweet child . . . I want you to understand why I brought you to the next world with me. I was lonely, and now I am not."_


	8. Future Imperfect

Ariassi knew in her heart of hearts that the unconscious creature she had dragged back through the Scar several microturns ago was the Doctor. The steely-eyed Miravalan observed her visitor in stony silence, and wondered if her encounter would be worth the heavy price she had been forced to pay.

Nearly twenty turns had passed since her first conference with the Prophet, back when she was a naive youngling devoted to Valestar and to her own outdated ideals. Through the strict battle training, the near endless reminders of death festering around her, and the inevitable trial of growing older, every passing _tole_ had been spent in anticipation of her destined meeting. But Ariassi's success was overshadowed by the weight of disgrace she carried on her broad shoulders.

She was supposed to die on the other side of the Scar. It was the fate of all Miravalans who went to fight. Fate ordained that the warriors were to journey to the Forevertime on the terms of their enemies in a world no more real to them than a half-forgotten memory lost in the passage of time. Even the Prophet had said so in a moment of unmatched despair.

Cheating fate, Ariassi knew with a leaden heart, was a coward's act that came with a heavy burden of shame and dishonor. She was marked in the eyes of the other Miravalans. She was tainted. Silence followed in her footsteps. Every eye she met was cast downward in embarrassment and disappointment. There was none who would speak with her, save for Verric, but even he was an outcast in her small, broken society. Ariassi had become another buried secret the elders felt more comfortable forgetting than forgiving.

She jerked to life as the stranger, the Doctor, stirred in his slumber. Ariassi considered him with the coldest scrutiny. She would deny fear, but she grasped the shaft of her _yari_ spear tighter than before. Though her actions in bringing the Doctor to the old city were her own, they did nothing to quell the anger boiling inside her.

Emotions were such mysterious, fickle things. Ariassi sighed bitterly, knowing they were one of many things she would never entirely understand. Rescuing the Doctor creature had cost her her pride and her respect under the laws of her people. By saving his life, Ariassi had dishonored herself as a Miravalan.

But, despite everything, she did not regret her necessary cowardliness.

Her life was one amongst many. The children of Valestar existed for the sole purpose of bettering the future of their people. Ariassi's honor was nothing in comparison to the importance of the fight against her ancestors. The Prophet sought her out for a reason, and though she had at many points doubted her ultimate fate, she had never wavered from it.

She was ordered many turns ago to seek out a stranger whose countenance was different from her own, whose very presence would shake the foundations of her world. A nameless creature called the Doctor. Ariassi's fate was tied to the fate of the fair-skinned creature laying at her feet, and if she was to understand her purpose, she knew she would have to first understand his.

Ariassi could not help but reach out a hand to touch his face. His skin was so pale. His hair was curled into corkscrews that sprouted from his skull in all directions. His long, angular body was covered in more articles of clothing than Ariassi had ever seen on any one person in her life. Fabric was scarce on Miraval; Ariassi and the other soldiers wove their thin trousers and tunics from stringy fruit pulp and fashioned their armor from the dried husks of the _yamatwe_ plant. _Yamatwe_ grew beyond the wall of the old city, deep in the desert where a few reservoirs still gleamed dusty green under Valestar and Miran's merciless glowers. The gatherers, Ariassi included, had to risk Teridon attack to collect the precious plants. Clothing was a gift, not to be squandered as the Doctor squandered his. Such a seemingly small thing reaffirmed his strangeness even more so than his pale skin or his hawkish face.

Dragging him through the Scar had been difficult, for like her own people, the stranger was heavy-boned and broad. However, Ariassi realized that without his big, stone-colored cloak and the long cord from around his neck, he appeared slighter in build. Perhaps, like a Teridon with its frills extended, the Doctor was trying to appear larger than he really was. Perhaps he did not trust his own stature alone, and had to resort to color and presentation to command a presence. Perhaps, like Ariassi, he was a coward.

"Don't leave the TARDIS, Sarah," he murmured as he tossed and turned in the grip of some nightmare. He had not awoken since coming through the Scar, seven microturns ago, and Ariassi doubted his nightmares would be the last in the microturns yet to come. "Don't leave the TARDIS . . ."

It was something he had muttered several times. Ariassi did not know what a "sairra" was, but the Prophet had told her about the "tauduss", though Ariassi's younger self had not understood at the time. The Doctor seemed anxious. His eyelids flickered, and his face twitched in discomfort.

"Please wake up soon," Ariassi asked quietly, more to herself than the slumbering stranger. "I have a lot of questions, and very little time to seek answers."

He surprised her by answering in a strong, full voice, as though he had been awake the entire time, "Well, why didn't you say so in the first place!"

His eyes snapped open, and Ariassi's breath caught in her throat. Her grip quivered on the shaft of her spear. The two aliens considered one another: the Doctor, bug-eyed, sallow-faced, and fair-skinned, with a face beaming with benevolence that contrasted heavily to Ariassi's probing, suspicious glower.

To Ariassi, there was no correct way to describe a color she had never seen before. The stranger's bright eyes were unlike the golden desert or the ruins of the old city. Miraval was a world of sand, stone, and sky; there had been no place for jewels like the ones gleaming in the Doctor's eyes for many, many turns. They shone with surprise and wisdom and excitement and fear. They were proud eyes, but sad eyes. There was once a word for such a color, but Ariassi could not remember it.

"Your face will stick like that if you're not careful."

Ariassi realized she was staring at him, but she did not lower her gaze. Her yellow eyes burned with equal parts malice and curiosity. They dared the Doctor to look away. "My apologies, Doctor," she said gruffly, "I suppose you thought that was exceedingly rude of me."

"Oh, there's no need to apolo — did you just say 'Doctor'?"

It was his turn to stare. Ariassi nodded a simple confirmation. "You don't have a real name. You are simply called Doctor."

"Other people call me Doctor. Well, I call me Doctor too, but given as we've never met before, I'm fairly sure you shouldn't know that, Miss . . .?"

"My name is not Miss."

The Doctor blinked his wide eyes at her. He sounded slightly exasperated when he said, "I was _asking_ your name."

Ariassi's lip curled just enough to reveal the tips of her sharp canines. "Then don't use words I do not understand. I am not stupid, but I take offense in being perceived as such."

The Doctor held up his hands in a mock surrender. His visitor's temper stung like a hot poker. "You obviously have me at the disadvantage. I'm hardly likely to know the words which you do and do not understand. Give me the benefit of the doubt, at least!"

Ariassi's eyes narrowed. She kept a tight grip on her spear, but her voice was not quite so flinty when she admitted, "If I had any doubt in my mind, Doctor, you would be dead on the other side of the Scar. I have no doubt left to give you."

"You seem to trust me, then."

"Do not make that mistake," she warned him. "I do not trust anyone who comes from beyond the Scar, but I trust absolutely in my own judgement."

The Doctor raised his eyebrows. "So you did make the personal decision to bring me here, wherever _here_ is . . . I am allowed to ask that, I hope?"

"You are in the Vaults under a place once known as Ninagirsu. The city was toppled during the War in Heaven, and we the survivors dwell in the ruins. You have been here for nearly seven microturns, almost a quarter cycle of Mirari. Less specifically, the world beyond this settlement is Miraval."

"Miraval." The Doctor rolled the word over his tongue as if sampling a fine vintage. "I congratulate you, young lady."

"Why?"

"I have never heard of your planet before. That is quite an achievement concerning someone as well-traveled as me."

Ariassi snapped, "Miraval is not a "plan-net". Miraval is the creation of Valestar. It was cursed by Miran. It is a beacon of light in the infinite darkness, the middle ground between the higher realms and the Forevertime, the world beyond life."

The Time Lord frowned deeply. He didn't entirely fancy devoting his precious time and energy to deciphering the alien's metaphysical gobbledygook. "Have you ever considered the possibility of other worlds existing besides Miraval?"

"There is only the ruins, the desert, and the Scar. There is nothing else that has not been taken from us by the War in Heaven."

"If you don't mind my saying, yours is a very myopic view of the universe. And may I please ask for your name? I feel as though I'm talking to myself, and while I know of no better repository of sparkling repartee, it does get very impersonal after a while."

"My name is Ariassi," she said. "And Ariassi doesn't take kindly to strangers mistaking her people's beliefs for ignorance."

The Doctor's mouth clamped shut, well and truly cowed. He had been about to offer her a jelly baby, but now thought better of it

"You are the stranger on this world, Doctor, and I have sacrificed my honor to save your life. You would do well by granting me the respect I deserve."

"But you had a reason to bring me here, I presume? Clearly it wasn't out of love," said the Doctor wryly. "Not that you're likely to tell me, of course. I haven't a clue where I am, who you _really_ are, or why I'm here. My last memory was of getting clobbered by a particularly well-aimed foot. Quite frankly, I have a maddening headache and I'm worried about Sarah. If we can't establish the even the most basic cordiality towards one another I suggest we stop wasting each other's time and you let me get back to my TARDIS. How does that sound?"

Ariassi latched on to his every word with tenacity. "What is sairra?"

The Doctor snorted, "_She_ is someone either very lost, very upset, or very dead, depending on whether or not she opted to take my advice. And let me tell you, Miss Ariassi . . . if Sarah _is_ dead, and I've been trapped here unable to help her, you'll be getting more from me than the occasional witty exchange."

"You were alone when I found you," Ariassi said uneasily. "I wasn't aware you traveled with companions."

"Oh, I pick them up every now and again. It detracts from the loneliness of the job."

"If she was caught in the battle, Doctor, it is very unlikely she survived."

The Doctor's voice was dangerously quiet. "Is that so? Let me tell you something, Ariassi. If that is the case, I will be holding you personally responsible. That is not a position you wish to find yourself in."

"There is none to blame but yourself. Wars are inimical to friendships. Every warrior knows that."

"I am no warrior. I am simply a traveler who always seems to go blundering into the wars of miserable creatures like you!"

Ariassi smirked. Her pointed teeth gave her a predatory appearance. "That is not what I was told. I was told you were a warrior."

"Then your information was incorrect," said the Doctor wearily. He didn't have the energy or the will to argue. "Along with many, many other things. Now . . . may I _please_ be allowed to get back to my TARDIS?"

Ariassi's expression was inscrutable. Hoisting herself with the shaft of her spear, she got to her feet and offered the Doctor her hand. The Time Lord grasped the long, multi-knuckled digits and got slowly to unsteady legs.

"I feel as though I've been pulled through a hedge backwards," he muttered, his head spinning and every muscle aching.

"You were in a war, a war of which I am an active part. Your discomfort is the least of my concerns."

"Thank you very much."

Ariassi gestured to the doorway of their little alcove. Golden light streamed through the archway and illuminated a curtain of dusty sand dancing in the air. "Shall we go to your . . . tauduss?"

"Lead the way, Sacajawea."

Ariassi glared at him. "Come with me. Do not make eye contact with anyone. Do not speak to anyone. You are a deviant. Do not forget that."

The Doctor smiled, not unkindly. "Like you?"

"Yes, if you must know. Come."

Ariassi led the Doctor up a curling flight of stone steps and into the sweltering desert. The heat nearly knocked the Doctor to his knees. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, a part of him thankful he no longer wore his scarf and coat. He and Ariassi had emerged on a plinth of stone several meters above the rest of the ruins, which were strewn like children's building blocks across the well-trodden sand.

Squinting, he saw a vast golden desert stretching from horizon to horizon beyond a crumbling perimeter wall. The view shimmered in the oppressive heat. The mighty suns still dominated the light purple sky and haloed everything in yellow. It was the same desert, but it was angrier than the Doctor remembered. The sand dunes were considerably shorter and fewer in number. The suns had waned to deeper, blotchier colors. Far away, the sky boiled with maroon storm clouds and sheet lightning.

"So that's Miraval," said the Doctor. "I can't say it's one of the more pleasant places I've been marooned."

"We make due," Ariassi lied.

"Has it always been this . . . bleak?"

She sighed. Her race memories always made her sad. "Ninagirsu was once a City of Glass. Its glittering towers stretched to the roof of the world. The buildings gleamed like diamonds under the twin lights of Valestar and Miran. We had technology and learning. We had peace."

"But not anymore, I take it?"

"See for yourself." Ariassi gestured to the blackened ruins. A few Miravalans trod over the stone, but most were huddled underground, out of the blistering afternoon heat. "The War in Heaven destroyed everything, and that which it didn't destroy it ate away until nothing more than a husk was left. The radiation from the weapons still exists. We have never stopped dying. We are a broken people, Doctor. We abhor our own futures. Living brings us pain."

"But at least you _live_," said the Doctor.

Ariassi rounded on him angrily. "We do not _want_ to live! We cannot bear it! Why do you think we go through the Scar to fight?"

"I don't understand."

She looked down at the old city. Blocks of black stone gleamed in the sunlight like puddles of oil. "You will. Let's go to your tauduss."

Climbing down the plinth would have been difficult if Ariassi were not cloven hoofed or if the Doctor were not a Time Lord. When they reached the ground, the Doctor could feel the heat radiating through the soles of his shoes. Sarah always did say he needed to get them repaired . . .

"We have to go to the wall," Ariassi said suddenly. "That is where your tauduss is."

"I didn't park my ship inside a ruin, Ariassi. The old girl should be out in the desert somewhere."

"I'll think you'll find, Doctor, that inside a ruin is _exactly_ where you 'parked' your ship."

Ariassi pointed a knobby finger to the cornerstone of the wall and left the Doctor to muse over her ambiguous answer. She did not go any closer, but nodded permission for the Doctor to take a look. He trod carefully over the crumbling blocks of stone and examined one rectangular pillar. At first glance it seemed as old and weatherbeaten as the rest of the ruins of Ninagirsu, but something caught the Doctor's eye as he knelt to examine the base of the column.

"Do all of your pillars have perfectly cut two-step bases?" asked the Doctor.

"Just this one," answered Ariassi from some distance behind him.

The Doctor made to reach into his pocket for a trowel and handbroom, but then remembered he had lost his coat somewhere between the battle and waking up in the company of Ariassi. He resorted to brushing the stone dust and sand away with his hands. His brow dripped with perspiration as he worked. The suns felt like two massive halogen bulbs on the top of his curly hair. Suddenly he drew his hand away, wincing as he jammed his finger into his mouth.

Ariassi looked a mite concerned. "What is wrong?"

"Splinter."

"What is a splinter? Are you hurt?"

The Doctor didn't pay her any attention. He murmured to himself, "Of course. Desert. You Miravalans wouldn't know a piece of wood from a piece of Wensleydale cheese. Ariassi's spear is cut from a type of quartz. The torches in her chamber were fashioned from flint. Nevertheless, I got a wooden splinter from a stone column. Except . . . it isn't a column at all, is it?"

The Doctor removed his waistcoat, rolled it into a bundle, and began to vigorously wipe away the remaining grim. He was greeted with the unwelcome sight of a rectangular indentation of blue wood. He rested his hand against the cracked surface. The familiar hum was long gone, but the wood was still warm to the touch.

"This War in Heaven," said the Doctor quietly, "how long ago was it?"

Ariassi walked forward to stand beside him. "Nearly three hundred turns ago."

"And a turn is what . . . a month? No, the time it takes for this planet to _turn_ around its two suns. Yes, yes . . . I see now."

Ariassi found his habit of talking to himself irritating in the extreme. She chose to humor him. "See what, Doctor?"

"The planet I knew. The War. My TARDIS. Sarah . . . all of that was many, many years ago. In _your_ past! And that Scar . . . you were one of those fighters, weren't you? One of the men and women who traversed a temporal anomaly to enter the history of your own timeline! Once you saw the battle was a lost cause, you made the decision to take me back with you, back through that temporal anomaly, back to your future!" His eyes had gone wide. "Do you have the slightest conception of how dangerous that was?"

"We have nothing to live for, remember?" said Ariassi. Her voice quivered with emotion. "The War in Heaven destroyed everything we knew. We have no future. Our younglings have no future. The radiation from the War is whittling us away piece by piece. More of us are lost every turn. In a few more turns, there will be nothing left of the Miravalan people. We will all journey to the Forevertime, and our world will die."

The Doctor's head began to throb. "So you travel through the Scar . . . back to your own pasts—"

"To destroy the Miravalans responsible for the War in Heaven. Our ancestors. The Scar is a blessing, but it is also a curse, for while we have the capability to prevent the War ever occurring, we would be destroying ourselves in the process. Our histories and our futures become dust, blown away on the new flows of time."

"Like an Ouroboros," murmured the Doctor. "The dragon eating its own tail . . . surviving by destroying."

Ariassi continued, "Your friend, your ship, the Miraval you knew . . . that was all a very long time ago. You are now trapped in the future we are trying to eliminate."


	9. Five for Silver

_The youngling came bursting into the deep Vaults. I left the conference of shocked, saddened elders and went to meet her. She must have run straight across the old city, clambering over the ruins until her knees were scraped raw and bleeding. The cold desert air had whipped her short white hair into a tangled mess slick with sweat. Trials of grit and grime stained her cheeks. She had been crying. The wet tracks gleamed on her ebony skin._

_"Where is she?" demanded the youngling._

_I stared at her. I did not want to answer her, but I could not bring myself to lie. She deserved the truth, no matter how damaging it was._

_"Ariassi . . ."_

_"WHERE IS SHE?!"_

_I looked at my hooves. It was not right for so much anger and despair to burn in the eyes of one so young. What could I say? Only words . . . and words were meaningless._

_"There wasn't enough of her to bring back, Ariassi," I explained quietly. "We buried her in the desert with the blessing of Valestar. The twin Gods themselves guide her to the next life."_

_"Damn Valestar! I don't want to know about him or Miran. Where is my mother!?"_

_Any other elder would have shunned her on the spot, but I found it within myself to forgive her insubordination. She was young, and her trial was one many of us could sympathize with._

_"Atigona was very brave, Ariassi. She understood how important the water collection was to the people of the old city. We would have suffered another ten mircoturns of dehydration and pestilence without the precious sustenance. She drew the Teridon away from the main party. She gave her life in the service of the people of Miraval."_

_"I don't care about the people," snarled the youngling. Her eyes blazed with fire. "I don't care about the fight or the Scar or the old city or this stupid, dead world. It can all go rot in the Forevertime for all I care! I want my mother back."_

_"Ariassi, your mother is not coming back."_

_"No . . ."_

_"I am so sorry. She travels to the Forevertime now. The least we could do was ensure her rest is one of peace. She lies under the golden sand, beneath the path of Valestar in his journey across the sky. He will shine down upon her for many turns, heralding her as a hero."_

_Ariassi regressed into bitter, furious sobs. Her howls of despair echoed throughout the Vaults. There were none who rested with dry eyes that night._

_She spent the next twenty microturns alone. She perched herself on the highest spots the wall, near the lookout post where she used to spend her evenings, and watched the journeys of the twin suns for many daytimes and nighttimes. Her thoughts alone were her company as her skin burned under Valestar and Miran's might and she grew thin with wasting. Even the word of the Prophet could not coax her from her exile. The word was that she would die on the wall. Her mother called to her from the Forevertime, and Ariassi would answer._

_Then, one daytime, during the largest freak rainstorm any of us had seen in our lifetimes, Ariassi came back to the deep Vaults. She was very thin, on the brink of starvation. But her eyes, unlike the rest of her body, were alert and shone as brightly as Valestar at his zenith. Any life that resided in her frail frame resided in her eyes. She asked one thing of me . . ._

_"My mother's _yari_ spear."_

_I presented her with the weapon. She took it and went to train with the other warriors. She said not a word to anyone. She has not smiled since, but she has become the best fighter in the old city._

_Of one thing, I am certain. The young Miravalan who went to the wall is not the same one who came back._


	10. Prisoner of War

Sarah was afraid that if she closed her eyes for too long, the gleaming city would disappear. It was something out of a dream, a dream where physics didn't matter and beauty was limitless, where architecture could be twisted into fantastic shapes and impossible things became mundane and ordinary.

"That's Ninagirsu?" she asked Captain Vondell, who was up front piloting their strange, gravity-defying vehicle. The Miravalan soldiers had called it a "sand-skimmer". It reminded Sarah of Luke Skywalker's car from _Star Wars_.

"The City of Glass," agreed Vondell. "That is the capital of our entire world."

Sarah whistled. "You lot don't do things by halves, do you?"

"I do not understand your colloquialisms, but I understand your meaning. Ninagirsu may seem ostentatious, but no structural adjustment was made without consideration for defense. It is a fortress in all but appearance. The city is impregnable."

"Never much cared for the word impregnable," murmured Sarah, too quietly for anyone to hear her.

"The domes are not made of glass, but a superalloy engineered with a negative refractive index, an optical property that resolves features smaller than the wavelength of light used to image them. The domes of the city appear transparent to the naked eye, hence the misconception of being constructed of glass."

Sarah picked through the technicalities. "So, if needs must, you can turn the entire city invisible. The domes are huge cloaking devices."

"If you like."

Sarah thought Vondell was being rather cold and analytical. She was beginning to understand that it was in his nature, and he simply didn't have the capacity to appreciate beauty anymore. But to her, Ninagirsu was nothing short of magical.

There was a sliver of moon hanging in the sky like a tinfoil prop at a Christmas pageant, but even that was enough to illuminate the City of Glass. The domes were shaped like transparent baubles and were stacked one on top of the other, their weather vanes and lightning rods brushing the midnight sky. Skewered through the middle of each soap bubble dome was a massive stainless steel spire. Sarah guessed they were the headquarters of the big government hotshots and corporate tycoons of the Miravalan world. Light rippled through the iridescent scales on the spires' framework and changed color from green, to gold, to red and back again. The light show made the entire desert glow.

The domes housed a buzzing metropolis. Flying cars whizzed around periphery freeways and huge complexes of apartment cubicles glowed neon blue. Green parks filled with gnarled trees and sparkling fountains dotted the multileveled city. Even in the dead of night, people crowded on suspension walkways like trails of ants.

"Look at them all," Sarah breathed in amazement, "it's like they don't even know there was a battle."

"They don't."

Sarah gaped at Vondell's back. "Hundreds of people were killed out there! It wasn't a battle, it was a massacre! Your fight may well have happened in the middle of scenic bloody nowhere, but even so, I wish you good luck in trying to keep it a secret for long."

Vondell's voice was like chipped ice. "It is not a matter of keeping it 'secret'. The people of Ninagirsu simply do not know, nor do they have any interest in knowing. They live their lives free of the worries presented by the conflict while we suppress anyone who seeks to subvert the natural order of Valestar, such as the desert militiamen. It is a clean system."

"It's censorship, plain and simple," said Sarah coldly. "Worse, it's murder. Are the attacks even sanctioned by your people?"

"Why should the people have a say in the matter?" one of the soldiers cut in. "We are the fighters, not them. Our work is authorized by General Terosius and blessed by the High Minster himself. We need no other permission."

"I'm sure those poor souls out in the desert would have something to say about that. Weren't a few of your own men killed?"

The soldiers fidgeted uncomfortably, but Vondell looked entirely unperturbed.

"Your words are seditious," he warned quietly.

The freelance journalist in Sarah would not be silenced. "You think you can censor me too, do you? Your culture isn't anything new to me, Vondell. It's a gold-gilded society hiding a lot of skeletons in its closet. History is littered with them. Hitler, Stalin, Franco . . . I could be here all night. You're a theocracy guided by a strict religious ideology. It's titular free politics: suppression of the people through propaganda, paranoia, and censorship of the media! Your lovely glowing dream version of Providence over there is a sham."

There was an ominous silence. The only sound came from the sand skimmer zooming over the desert and the grit flying up from under the engines. Sarah jutted out her chin and held her head high. She figured it was what the Doctor would have done, and that gave her some small measure of comfort.

Captain Aggair Vondell didn't turn from his driving. "Sergeant Fuyi," he said.

"Sir." It was the soldier who had spoken earlier.

"_Mir_ Smith has committed a level one subsidiary offense against the High Ministerial Government of Miraval and the Divine Providence of Valestar."

"Understood, sir."

"Furthermore, she is female, and thereby answerable to the highest ranking male in attendance. Which happens to be me."

"Hang on just a moment," Sarah spluttered.

"See to it she is quiet for the rest of the trip."

"Of course, sir." The sergeant removed a thin device from his utility belt. The fiberglass rod was black, with a rubber grip for the handle, and topped by two metal tips with dull barbs. Sarah squirmed against her bonds. She thought it looked uncomfortably like a cattle prod.

It was only later after her body arced with 2500 volts of electricity and collapsed unconscious to the floor of the sand skimmer did Sarah realize that it was, in fact, a cattle prod. She hit the deck with a thump. Her bonds held, and Sarah lay very still. The soldiers considered her with amusement and disgust. Not only was the female a deviant, but a blasphemer as well. She was lucky Vondell hadn't done worse.

"Thank you, Sergeant," said Vondell. "She was distracting my driving."

* * *

Sarah hated being knocked out and she was turning it into a deplorable habit. She awoke as the sand skimmer glided to a silent halt and the soldiers began to disembark at a tram station. Some time during her slumber Vondell had piloted them inside the protective domes of Ninagirsu. The multileveled city criss-crossed above her head and stretched high into the sky. A small cloud bank hovered around the windows of the tallest spires and complexes. A light rain was falling from the condensation. After the oppressive heat of the desert the air inside the domes was bitterly cold. Sarah remembered that she was dressed in little more than her nightie and bath robe, and shivered as the sweat and grim froze to her goose-fleshed skin. As Sergeant Fuyi climbed over the side with the rest of his battalion, Captain Vondell barked an order,

"The rest of the sand skimmers should arrive by Terminal C. See that curfew is observed and the soldiers are within the military complex in three _toles_."

"Understood, sir." Fuyi turned on his heel and went to join his fellows, who were crowded on the platform trying to form ranks. The civilian Miravalans paid them little notice, as though a battalion of fully-armed soldiers arriving in the middle of teatime were a perfectly regular occurrence.

"Aren't you going to join them?" Sarah asked groggily. Her tongue felt swollen and her mouth was dry.

Vondell avoided her question. "Let Fuyi's shock stick be a lesson we don't have to repeat, _Mir_ Smith. Where we're going, your impudence is tantamount to high treason."

"It's so nice to know I'm in good company," she drawled. "And where exactly are we going, Captain?"

"The Senatorial Chambers. We have an appointment with General Terosius and Underminster Lorenan."

"Oh lovely. And do I have to stay lassoed like a rodeo calf the entire time, or will I be allowed the privilege of moving my legs again?"

"That is entirely your decision, _Mir_ Smith." Vondell restarted the skimmer and took an onramp to join the traffic lanes. "Cooperate, and you have nothing to fear. As I've said before, we're not savages."

Sarah grumbled, "Just paranoid fascists and misogynists. And I haven't forgotten about the 'eventual execution' bit, you know."

"Nor should you. Let it be a motivator."

"In what universe is death a motivator?!"

There was not a trace of irony or sarcasm in Vondell's words when he said, "Be respectful and cooperative, and your execution will be swift and painless. Behave to the contrary and you will be tortured until death as a heretic and a genetic deviant. I harbor no love for the purity ideals shared by most of the Miravalan people, but I cannot say the same for Underminster Lorenan."

"Your lot are a bundle of laughs, you know that?"

Captain Vondell did not dignify that with a response. Sarah, unable to move her arms or her legs, resided to resting her chin on the edge of the skimmer. The rain speckled her face like sea mist. As much as Sarah wanted to close her eyes and sleep, the city held her attention, flashing by in a phantasmagoria of light and sound. They must have been passing through the wealthier part of town. The skimmer zoomed by grand buildings flanked by Grecian columns as thick as tree trunks where everything was made of glass. Polarized windows and diamond staircases and crystalline porticos sparkled with the reds and greens and golds of the enormous spires and their light shows.

"It's a pity that the most beautiful things belong to the people who have little interest in appreciating them," said Sarah to herself.

Vondell glided the skimmer down a transparent offramp and towards the closest and easily the largest spire. As they drew nearer and the structure grew in her field of vision, Sarah realized that the base alone was as wide as three football pitches. A double-decker bus could have cruised through the front doors with room to spare. Ranks of armed Miravalans, their black skin hidden underneath multilayered body armor, guarded the perimeter. They held bulky energy weapons across their chests.

"The Senatorial Chambers, I presume?" asked Sarah. Vondell angled the skimmer towards a smaller service entrance ten floors up the side of the crystal spire.

"You presume correctly." Vondell lowered the vehicle to an illuminated landing pad, where a small phalanx of guards ran to greet them. Vondell needed only to flash a holographic identification badge before the heavy-set creatures were hauling Sarah out of the vehicle by the hood of her robe. If her appearance surprised them, they didn't show it.

"Alright, alright, I do have legs you know," Sarah snapped. She glared at Vondell. "Untie me. At least grant me that one small dignity."

Vondell considered her for a moment and then nodded confirmation to the two guards. Soundlessly, they removed laser cutters from their belts and burnt through the gray cords. Sarah stumbled, her legs fuzzy was pins and needles and her hands completely numb. Vondell gave her a small moment to steady herself before he gestured towards the crystal spire.

"Walk with me, please. These two guards will follow behind you."

Sarah rubbed her wrists and glowered. "I'm hardly likely to run when my feet feel like dead fish."

"I should warn you about one more thing, _Mir_ Smith," Vondell did not look at Sarah as they walked into the building. The archway marking the entrance was obsidian black and glistened in the rain. "You are clearly unfamiliar with the Miravalan code of conduct as well as our ideologies, but I will only say this once. You are a female, a child of Miran the Enchantress, Betrayer of the Miravalan People. While in the presence of Underminster Lorenan and General Terosius, you will not speak. You will not make eye contact, and you will defer to them at all times. If you answer a direct question, you will address them as _Val_ Lorenan and _Val_ Terosius."

"For such a futuristic city I feel as though I've taken a trip back to the Dark Ages," muttered Sarah. "And trust me, I know how that feels! Is this something else to do with that infernal religion of yours?"

Vondell stiffened. "We do not have enough time for me to enlighten you to every single detail of our mythology. You are fortunate to have been captured by me and not one of my colleagues in the ascended military stratum. I am much more lenient of your insolence, but I can assure you that _they_ will not be. And if that tongue of yours comes loose in the Senatorial Chamber, there is nothing I can do to protect you. Is that understood?"

"Clear as proverbial crystal, _Captain_."

Vondell finally turned to look down at her from his towering height. "I do not believe you have a death wish, _Mir_ Smith. Nor do I believe you are dangerous. If I were you, I would try my utmost to convey that sentiment to the Underminister and the General."

"Noted. Are we there yet?"

"Yes."

The chamber entrance was another huge archway covered by an opaque forcefield. The blue illumination of the city outside flickered like altar candles on the black stone. It made Sarah feel distinctly uneasy. Looking at her reflection in the surface of the archway was as unnerving as gazing down into a black void of infinity.

"I have communicated ahead and notified Underminister Lorenan and General Terosius of your arrival," continued Vondell. "They are expecting us."

Sarah wished the Doctor were there. She realized with a start that she was about to confront the people who had probably given the order to have him and the rest of the men and women out in the desert killed. Her blood boiled at the thought.

Vondell swiped his identification card across a small sensor pad and the force field vanished. The guards prodded Sarah into a room that made the Whispering Gallery of St. Paul's Cathedral look like a dilapidated broom cupboard. There was no ceiling; the chamber took up the entire interior of the spire. The walls stretched upward until they disappeared into a cloud bank gathered _inside_ the building. Two great spheres the size of planetarium domes hung suspended in the center of the room. As Sarah watched, they slowly orbited around one another and cast different corners of the room in gold and orange. Chairs on pedestals surrounded the two spheres to form a circle. Only two of the chairs were occupied, the one facing the chamber entrance and the one to its immediate left.

In the first chair sat a wizened Miravalan with ebony skin that hung off his bones. His eyes were the color of fresh tangerines and his black hair hung in greasy curtains around his face. Sarah was distinctly reminded of Harrison Chase from her and the Doctor's last misadventure on Earth; he had the same oleaginous appearance. The second chair was occupied by a Miravalan strong enough to use the trees in Ninagirsu's parks as toothpicks. His muscles rippled under his golden armor and his black hair was sheered to a buzz cut over his skull. Unlike his slimy companion, his face was very expressive. He broke into a grin that would have given the Doctor pause for thought as Sarah and Vondell walked into the room.

"You spoke truly, Aggair," he boomed. His words echoed around the enormous chamber like thunder.

Captain Vondell bowed deep and low to his superior officer. Sarah thought it wise to do the same. "I have brought the prisoner of war, General Terosius, as instructed."

"A prisoner of war it may be, but a pureblood Miravalan it most certainly is not," said the thinner male. His words oozed and dripped like motor oil. Sarah took an immediate dislike to him. She was about to protest being referred to in the non-gender specific third person, but she remembered Vondell's warning and opted to keep quiet.

"This is _Mir_ Smith, Underminister Lorenan." Vondell introduced her with a dismissive wave of his lemur-like hand. Sarah harrumphed.

"_Mir_, eh?" General Terosius looked half-impressed. "So, _it_ is in fact a _she_. You need to salvage your manners, Underminister."

"_Mir_ or not she is still a deviant and a female," said Lorenan. "She violates the sanctity of the Senatorial Chamber with her impurities."

Sarah was disliking the Underminister more and more.

"I have no argument to the contrary, _Val_ Lorenan," admitted Terosius. "I have never before seen such a marked deviant. Look at her flesh . . . pale as Miran's moon in the night sky. And her eyes . . ."

"It is my professional opinion that _Mir_ Smith is not Miravalan, but of a species unknown to Ninagirsun science," said Vondell.

Lorenan sneered at the Captain. "When I want your professional opinion _Val_ Aggair Vondell, I will ask for it. As it is, I know of your turbulent relationship with the High Ministry. Only ten microturns ago you spoke out against me in a convening of Senate! It is only because of my loyalty to General Terosius and the High Minister himself, who for some reason has looked upon you with favor, that I have not banished you to the desert wastes with the other savages!"

"Hold your tongue, Underminister," growled Terosius. "Remember you address the Captain of the 1st Battalion!"

Vondell did not show any sign of offense. "My political standings are of little matter at the moment, Underminister, and are to be discussed at another time and place. My business this nighttime is with _Mir_ Smith."

"So it seems," said Lorenan. He fixed his probing eyes on Sarah unpeeled her layer by layer. She suddenly felt very exposed in her nightie.

"What are you?" asked the Underminister. "How did you come to be in the desert, fighting for the savages?"

If that wasn't a direct question, Sarah didn't know what was. "I am human, _Val_ Lorenan."

She may as well have been speaking Latin for all the good it did. Lorenan clearly didn't care for an answer he didn't understand, so he chose to ignore it. "What prompted you to betray the Miravalan people?"

"I didn't, _Val_ Lorenan. You see, the Doctor and I—"

"SILENCE!" roared General Terosius, thumping the arm of his chair with his fist and making Sarah jump. "Do not contradict the Underminister, _deviant_!"

"He's the one who asked! Don't get tetchy with me!"

The first flash of alarm passed over Vondell's face. Underminister Lorenan looked triumphant. "You soil the name of Valestar with your impertinence."

Sarah yelled back, "I may be speaking with impertinence, but at least it's truthful impertinence! What was the death count after today's battle, Underminister? Can you bear to know, or does your ignorance allow you to sleep soundly at night?"

General Terosius was livid. There was no hesitation when he snapped, "Kill her. I will not stand for this behavior in the Senatorial Chamber!"

Vondell said nothing. Sarah's heart sank as she realized the full hopelessness of her situation. She had finally done it, done it good and proper.

"You should have killed that creature in the desert, Captain," said Underminister Lorenan with knife-sharp malice. "And soon, she will agree with me. Guards, take _Mir_ Smith to the White Room. I will follow you shortly."

"Belay that order, Underminister."

All heads turned in surprise. Striding into the chamber with an entourage of soldiers was a young, straight-backed Miravalan. His elaborate costume and narrow crystal staff denoted his high rank. His eyes were two different colors; they mirrored the spheres orbiting at the center of the room. Unlike Lorenan, Terosius, or even Vondell, the stranger had a careworn, lined face, as if he were used to smiling. He regarded Sarah with curiosity, but addressed his fellow Miravalans coldly.

"The female known as _Mir_ Smith will be released into the custody of High Minister Renwood, _my_ custody, immediately. She is now under my protection."


	11. Six for Gold

_titleEvaluation of Protocol X: Final Experiment Stage: Archive/title  
– description  
Final test to ascertain the effectiveness of Protocol X  
/description  
– item  
Professor Atio Poleronius has logged in  
/item  
dc:subjectBegin Evaluation/dc:subject  
– ComputerProgram active. Welcome back, Professor/Computer_

_– . . . . . . . .  
– PoleroniusHello computer. Goodbye computer. This should be a final evaluation, shouldn't it? A final experiment. The truth is, there is nothing left to experiment. The only unknown is how much time I have left./Poleronius  
– ComputerTime until what, Professor?/Computer  
– PoleroniusEveryone is dead./Poleronius  
– ComputerSystem does not confirm. No casualty reports have been filed./Computer  
– PoleroniusThere has been no one to file them, you parochial machine./Poleronius  
– ComputerInput data insufficient to process. I do not respond to insults, Professor./Computer  
– PoleroniusSince when did you develop a sense of sarcasm?/Poleronius  
– ComputerSince you imprinted a Miravalan personality onto my mainframe. I am a culmination of traits inherent of the Miravalan mean. Evidently, that includes sarcasm/Computer  
– PoleroniusIrony./Poleronius  
– ComputerExplain./Computer  
– PoleroniusIrony is a lot like the relationship between the two suns, a crystal looking glass, and an insect._

_– ComputerDeadly?/Computer  
– PoleroniusYou are a very cruel computer. Anyway, irony can affect any humdrum aspect of everyday life, be it a book, a painting, an idea, a quote, or in the insect's particular case, Valestar and Miran. This aspect exists, pervades our waking hours, captures our attention long enough for us to spare a thought, and then is simply there to consider from afar. Irony is like the looking glass to the little insect. All of a sudden, Valestar and Miran, this aspect of everyday life, this node of numbing normality has been concentrated to a fine point of significance. What was once immaterial has now become defining./Poleronius  
– ComputerBy that logic, how am I ironic?/Computer  
– PoleroniusA computer is the only Miravalan left alive. Congratulations. You are the last of our kind./Poleronius  
– ComputerYou still exist. You are still alive./Computer  
– PoleroniusMy time is running out. Soon I too shall pass, and the teridon shall reign supreme./Poleronius  
– ComputerThe teridon? A colloquialism. The true name is Protocol X, and Protocol X was never authorized by Ninagirsun High Command./Computer  
– PoleroniusThat was my fault, computer. My arrogance made me believe I existed beyond the jurisdiction of the High Command. Beyond the jurisdiction of my own conscience./Poleronius  
– ComputerHas Protocol X come to fruition, Professor?/Computer  
– PoleroniusIt has. Valestar damn me to the Forevertime, but it has./Poleronius_

___– . . . . . . . . _  
– ComputerOh dear./Computer  
– PoleroniusDo you see, now? I killed them. I killed them all. I pushed the project forward and I lost control. I killed them./Poleronius  
– ComputerNo. Protocol X killed them. The teridon killed them. You cannot hold yourself responsible for an unthinking animal. It is not logical./Computer  
– PoleroniusLogic. Logic died with the Miravalan race./Poleronius  
– ComputerYou exist, Professor. You are still a beacon of hope./Computer

___– . . . . . . . . _  
– PoleroniusI'm frightened./Poleronius  
– ComputerAre you?/Computer  
– PoleroniusI think . . . I think . . ./Poleronius  
– ComputerWhat do you think, Poleronius?/Computer

___– . . . . . . . . _  
– PoleroniusI think I'm dead./Poleronius

___– . . . . . . . . _  
– PoleroniusI'm right, aren't I?/Poleronius  
– ComputerI am detecting no life signs within a two click vicinity. Ninagirsu is empty./Computer  
– PoleroniusAm I dead?/Poleronius

___– . . . . . . . . _  
– ComputerYes./Computer


	12. Under the Blood Sky

The TARDIS had been worn smooth by decades of corrosion by sand. The paint was chipped and flaky; it crumbled into dust at the Doctor's touch. A single breath was enough to blow faded blue across the sand and scatter what little remained of the ship into the wind. The Doctor lay a hand on the door in reverence, but no comforting hum vibrated through his fingers. The wood was as unmarred and lifeless as a slab of polished granite baking in the sun. Under the brutality of Miraval's elements the shell of the TARDIS had hardened into stone.

The entity within the time machine had died a long time ago. The TARDIS was no more than a petrified husk.

"Very grounding, isn't it?" said the Doctor with a sad smile. He did not expect Ariassi to answer him. "To know how it all ends. The final act, and no matter how many times you cry 'Author!', nobody is going to come back on stage. In all honesty, I feel as though I've outlived a part of myself."

Ariassi rapped the butt of her spear against the door. The Doctor gave her a sharp look. "It is just a wooden box that time has solidified into stone. This marker has stood as the cornerstone of the wall since before memory. It is a relic from the War in Heaven. I did not know it was your tauduss, at least not before the Prophet told me so herself. It seems like such a simple thing to be the contraption that allows you to travel. I had expected something more."

"Don't we all, eh?" The Doctor shook his head and his curls bounced. "I took what I could get, and even hurtling through time and space in a dilapidated old Type 40, I was more fortunate than most renegade stock. That good fortune has evidently run its course."

"Not as circumstance would have it." Ariassi reminded him, "I could have very easily left you to die on the other side of the Scar and I would have died quite contentedly along with you. My mercy is unprecedented. From my perspective, you are positively blessed."

The Doctor shot her a funny stare from under his eyebrows. "Enlighten me. I'm trapped in an alien planet's post-apocalyptic future without Sarah or the TARDIS, a future which you and your people are trying your utmost to destroy. Somewhere some deity is having a right good laugh."

"Do not mock me," warned Ariassi. "You are blessed because you had those like Sairra and the tauduss in the first place. Though my honor is no longer a subject of debate because of it, you _are_ alive. In contrast, the ultimate destiny of the Miravalan people is our destruction as this radiation wastes us away. No life. No companions. Not even a memory. Unless, of course, we can go back and change our own history, in effect, create a new future. Enough of our science survived for us to understand temporal continuity to that extent."

The Doctor did not meet Ariassi's eyes. The encroaching evening cast his features in fluid shadow, making his expression inscrutable. His fruity voice was deep and gravelly when he murmured, "It you dam a river, you prevent the valley villages from being washed away, but you flood and destroy the villages around the reservoir."

"What is a dam? What is a river?" asked Ariassi. "How can you hope to make a point if I do not understand you? Speak plainly, Doctor!"

"Just take my word for it, Ariassi," he said. "You and your people are acting on the most selfish of selfless motives. Meddling with time is inexpressibly dangerous. The Scar, as you call it, isn't a tool. It was never meant to be used to fight your battles. Temporal anomalies are rare, unstable, and lethal. My companion had a premonition of blood, of time running out, right before we came here. Now, more than likely, she's dead. What does that tell you?"

"The Scar allowed her to glimpse her own future?"

"Sarah's sensitivity to time comes from the TARDIS, but my point is, if you Miravalans had any sense rattling around in your elliptic skulls you would have left that Scar well alone."

"The Scar is woven throughout Miraval's history. It belongs to our world and to the people, and is ours to use as we see fit."

"To create a predestination paradox that could rip the history of this planet apart? To decimate yourselves? My head may feel as though a Sontaran has been using it for a tetherball, but I remember the Battle of the Scar with acute clarity. There is no doubt in my mind that we both would have perished if your inkling of self-preservation, fatalism, prophetic intuitiveness – whatever you choose to name it – hadn't intervened. To call it a massacre is to attribute too much blame to your counterparts in the past. Your mission is suicidal. Blindly, heedlessly suicidal."

Ariassi's eyes coruscated. "It is not suicide! It is sacrifice! Our soldiers journey to the Forevertime in the hope that they are helping to create a better future for their families, families who would have no future otherwise!"

The Doctor honked a deprecating laugh. "And even on the infinitesimally small chance that you are successful and you do affect the one critical turning point in time which stemmed this future, what then, hmm? You, as you exist now, in this time stream, will cease to exist. An entire new alternate reality will spawn from the temporal entropy. And even then, there is no guarantee that you will exist in this alternate future. To affect the course of history in the way you Miravalans are attempting will have consequences beyond your reckoning. I cannot sanction it."

She sneered. "Who are you to think you have that power? You are a deviant."

"I am a Time Lord."

"Then they are one and the same if you have the arrogance to believe you have lordship over such a realm. Nothing you can say will sway the purpose of our people."

"Non interference wouldn't just be a matter of gross negligence on my part," snapped the Doctor, his patience wearing thin, "it would amount to my turning a blind eye to your killing yourselves, which is something I try rather hard to avoid on a day to day basis."

Ariassi's nostrils flared. Her knuckles were gray around the shaft of her spear and fury radiated in her eyes. In the evening twilight, her white hair glowed orange. She managed through trembling lips, "You disgrace yourself, Doctor. Worse, you disgrace the dead children of Valestar. The Prophet was gravely mistaken in believing my fate could possibly be tied with yours. Your life is your blessing, but it is my curse. I would have preferred to die with my brothers and sisters on the other side of the Scar."

She hefted her spear and left the Doctor alone with the remnants of his precious tauduss. She walked fast to prevent herself from turning around and driving her blade through the deviant's sternum. Her thoughts came from immense frustration and disappointment.

For most of her growN life, she had anticipated her meeting with the Doctor. It had been the one ineffable constant that seemed to hold her tumultuous life on course. Even after Atigona's death, when all meaning and happiness had been bled away and the beautiful sunsets became ugly abominations, the Doctor had provided a minute glimmer of hope for the future. It had taken those like Verric to prevent her from succumbing to complete despair during the turns in between.

But the Prophet was wrong. She was old and senile and babbled nonsense. Ariassi's 'fate' amounted to nothing more than an arrogant, ignorant deviant and his self-superior aloofness. She had sacrificed everything for him, and he didn't even have the grace to appreciate why.

"Ariassi! Ariassi, where are you going?" The Doctor had followed her. He strode alongside her but she did not acknowledge him. Ariassi hurdled over the broken stone and shifting sand, hoping to lose him amid the rubble. Despite his size and fleshy, oblong feet, the Doctor kept pace with relative ease. He matched her step for step as she crossed the settlement, heading for the only opening in the perimeter wall.

"You know," he said tonelessly, "I'm no expert when it comes to this planet, but I can't envision going beyond the city limits at night as a very good idea."

There was only one entrance to Ninagirsu: an ovoid hole in the perimeter wall knocked free by a boulder during the last flash flood many turns ago. It was guarded daytime and nighttime by the only male soldier who never went through the Scar to sacrifice his life. Refillwey had inherited the guardianship of Ariassi's home, and he made no effort to stop her as she crawled through the hole and into the desert. She could have been a breath of wind for all the attention he paid her.

"Do not follow me, Doctor."

"Unlikely. Oh, pardon me." The Doctor squeezed past Refillwey and through the hole to join Ariassi. "I still have a few questions to put to you, young lady."

"Seek your answers elsewhere!"

"Just as you're doing? In the desert? Alone?"

Ariassi ignored him and continued away from the safety of the settlement.

"Whether you like it or not, Ariassi, I am the only person you have left. And since every other member of your species seems disinclined to make conversation, you're the only one _I_ have left. We need to work together if we are to find some sort of compromise."

"Your compromise would mean stopping our people from trying to set things right!"

The Doctor protested, "I just want to get back to Sarah, to the TARDIS. If this is the timeline you hope to destroy then I cannot allow them to become a part of it."

"Are you too dishonored to leave any trace of yourself on Miraval, Doctor?" Ariassi asked bitterly, "Do our ways disgust you so much?"

The Doctor stopped following Ariassi. Once she could no longer hear the boggy crunch of his footsteps behind her, she turned around to look at him.

"Well?" she demanded.

"Sarah Jane is my best friend," the Doctor said calmly, his hands shifting in his pockets and his eyes boring holes into the sand, "and the TARDIS is my oldest and dearest companion. I do not want them to die here."

The chill of the desert night settled over their shoulders as the two aliens considered one another in silence. Miran had set and Valestar was so low in the sky that the sand had bruised purple. As the light died, the huge, open sky filled with an angry nebula awash with color. The view was unobstructed by clouds or industrial smog. Auroral shades of green and gold and brilliant red corkscrewed into towering vortexes of gas. The pristine firmament was dotted with thousands of stars. Over the northern horizon, a massive crescent of silver peaked behind the mountains. The Doctor looked up in amazement.

"Your sky is very beautiful," he murmured.

Ariassi thought his face looked younger in the dark. The creases lining his mouth were softer. His strange eyes of a forgotten color glowed silver in Mirari's moonlight.

"We call it the blood sky. The War in Heaven is well-named, for the battles took place among the stars."

"And that nebula is the result of your war?"

"It is believed so, yes."

"Some war." The Doctor paused for a moment as if he wanted to say something more, but then he continued on another train of thought, "Your moon interests me. I can see grooves and crevices on its surface. I can see dark patches of vegetation. Are there people up there?"

Ariassi's anger had set with the throbbing heat of the twin suns. In Mirari's light and under the blanket of the nebula filling the sky, she felt an uncharacteristic serenity wash over her. The fire in the heavens made her own anger seem so small, so insignificant. Ariassi gazed at the moon with the Doctor.

"It is a beautiful sight, but there is no life on Mirari."

"Mirari? What a lovely name." The Doctor smiled wider than should have been anatomically possible. "Do you know, in Earthspeak, _Mirari_ is Latin for 'to admire'? It was the root word in the name Miranda. O brave new world, that has such people in't!"

"Mirari is no brave new world." Ariassi sounded haunted, and if the Doctor didn't know any better, fearful. "Mirari is dead, deader than Miraval. Deader than the Forevertime."

The Doctor frowned. "Hell is empty, and all the devils are here. What do you mean, Mirari is dead?"

He had many questions. Ariassi had many questions, too, but she was too tired to argue answers anymore. "Are you too old for a story, Lord of Time? Does your exalted wisdom have no place for tales of turns past?"

"Well, once you've outgrown stories you've outgrown life. Even _I_ haven't reached that point. And believe you me," the Doctor tapped the side of his nose knowingly, "I have lived a very long time."

Ariassi considered him. His words were honest and true. Away from the ruins of Ninagirsu, away from the stifling heat and the reminders of misery, the Doctor was not quite as insufferable. They had both found some manner of peace alone and under the blood sky.

"In our mythology, there are three primary realms that compose the layers of creation. There is _Soran_, the highest realm and home of the gods, _Menina_, the realm of birth and rebirth, and then there is the Forevertime, the dark realm beyond death."

"Remarkably similar to Christian mythology," mused the Doctor. "There are clear parallels to Heaven, Earth, and Hell."

"Many, many turns ago," Ariassi continued, "the Twin Gods Valestar and Miran descended from _Soran_. Valestar created Miraval in his own image to act as the golden beacon in the infinite blackness. The ancient people of Miraval built great cities and waged glorious battles in the name of Valestar. They conquered _Menina_, the known realm of birth and rebirth. Then Valestar's sister, Miran, created her own world to rival that of her brother's making. She called it Mirari, the Orb of Light. Valestar grew jealous of Mirari's beauty and tranquility, so he cursed it. The water turned to acid and the air to poison. Mirari is the silent world, and was abominated by our people."

"Was?"

Ariassi looked up at the sky. For the first time, the grip on her spear slackened. "The elders say that Miran took a slow and deadly revenge on her brother. She foretold that devils from the Forevertime, creatures that could outlive the time of birth and rebirth, would destroy Valestar's world . . . Miraval. Miran's name became an anathema. Her daughters, the females of the Miravalan people, were suppressed under the old order. Valestar was worshipped as the primary God. But destiny came to pass, and the War in Heaven was the battle Miran foretold, fought between Valestar's followers and Miran's. We have come to realize that the desecration of our world rests on the shoulders of both our people, on both our deities. Valestar and Miran found their peace through our destruction."

"And thus another world order falls in the name of their god."

"You have seen similar plights?"

"Time has a way of recrossing itself," said the Doctor solemnly, "endings create beginnings which age into endings. One of the ineffable inevitabilities of such circles of circumstance is the presence of those willing to kill for an idea no more tangible than a moment, here and gone in an instant."

"Then you see why we have to do what we do," Ariassi insisted, her words hoarse and desperate, "to stop the cycle. We will die here on Miraval. The sunsets are the only things we have left, and even they have lost their light. Our only hope of creating a future free of the ghosts is by ensuring the ghosts never come into existence in the first place. Soon I too will go to the Forevertime, to join the ranks of ghosts I failed to destroy."

"Ariassi." The Time Lord looked grave. He reached out a hand, as if to touch her face . . .

Ariassi had already readjusted her grip on the _yari_ spear before the Doctor's hand rested on her shoulder and gave it a little tap. He nodded behind her, in the direction of Mirari rising over the mountains. He did not say a word, but his strange eyes blanched in well-concealed fear. Dread deadened Ariassi's limbs as she dared to glance over her shoulder. Her sharp canines bit so hard into her lip, she drew blood.

"I must ask," the Doctor pointed a shaky finger, "what in the name of Rassilon is _that _thing?"

Mirari illuminated the creature against the dark sand. It was muscular and lean, gleaming with emerald scales. Its huge feet, wide enough to distribute its substantial weight over the top of the sand, were embedded with talons the size of scimitars sharpened to wickedly fine points. Curled spikes snaked down a protruding spinal cord. A long, whiplike tail lashed from side to side across the sand. Its four pairs of eyes were lemon yellow and glowed in the dark. Like searchlights they scanned the desert . . . and narrowed in triumph when they settled on the Doctor and Ariassi.

"That is a Teridon," Ariassi said. She managed to mask her own fear. "A warrior beast from the old times."

The Doctor licked his lips nervously. "He doesn't look particularly friendly."

"_She_ is not. No Teridon is. They are ruthless killers, desert stalkers that slaughter Miravalans like cattle. Nothing can stand in their path. I suggest you make for the ruins, Doctor, while you still can."

"And you?"

"I know what I am doing."

"Was this your intention, then?" Understanding dawned on him. He rounded on Ariassi angrily. "To wander into the desert and never return?"

The Teridon began to slink towards them. The Doctor had no doubt it could move fast if it tried. The beast simply did not want to waste the energy.

"You never should have followed me here, Doctor," Ariassi murmured.

"I followed you," the Doctor closed Ariassi's fist around the _yari _spear and held it tight, "because you are a warrior in disgrace, and knew of only one way to regain your honor. But you were wrong. It is _never_ the way."

"How would you know?" she demanded. "I have nothing left back in Ninagirsu. If you will not help us, Doctor, I would die as I deserve. Alone, under the blood sky, in dishonor."

"While there is life, there is hope, and hope is the one thing you Miravalans must never loose sight of."

"You made it very clear that our hopes are mere dreams."

"Hope is as real as the will of the last person ready to defend it." The Teridon came closer and the Doctor spoke faster, "You, Ariassi, have a destiny to fulfill, eh? You said that we are tied together, that this Prophet chap predicted my fate would mirror yours. I have no intention of dying today, and I believe, deep down in that warrior's heart of yours, you don't either."

A roar split the desert stillness. The Teridon's needle-like teeth and slathering jaws glinted in the moonlight. The Doctor was close enough to see the sharp intelligence and bloodlust in its eyes before it was upon them, its claws slashing open the night.


	13. Seven for a Secret Never to be Told

_Sarah flew over the scorched desert of a world she somehow understood to be Miraval. It was a ravaged, twisted skeleton of a place blasted out of recognition by war and death._

_The golden glow of the sand had paled to an ashy gray the color of ancient oak wood. The dunes had been shelled into impact craters. The sand around the rim of each crater had been flung in all directions by the force of the bombings. Small fires still burnt at the bottom of the depressions. The terrain was streaked red and black, blotchy like diseased flesh. The heat from the bombs had been enough to fuse mounds of sand into lumps of black rock. The air was thick with heat and the smell of ozone._

_As Sarah soared and surveyed the ruin, a great wind buffeted her from side to side and threatened to tear her out of the sky. Her stomach lurched as she plummeted out of the air and then soared back towards the clouds on an updraft. The sky above her boiled with thick black storms. Silent heat lightning flickered around her. The rain that fell was oily and dark with soot. It was the middle of the day, but everything was wreathed in shadow._

_There were bodies around the craters. Some glowed silver and others burned gold. Some had fallen with their limbs wrapped around each other, locked in battle even in death, while others had died alone, far away from their companions. Sarah ignored the armies of the dead and combed the gray desert for life. She had to find someone alive. Sarah Jane didn't know why, but it suddenly seemed like the most important task in the universe._

_A tendril of blue light rose up into the sky and broke through the halos of gold and silver. Sarah gasped with delight and banked towards the ground. She was drawn inexorably to the sound of labored breathing and the beating of a single heart. The knowledge that a single living thing still existed in this dead world was enough to quench her insatiable thirst._

_Sarah alighted upon the ground and walked towards the body. It was no more discernible than a dark shape curled up in the sand. It looked surreal, almost mirage-like, in the void of sand and ashes. As she drew closer, she found that the shadowed figure was actually quite pale, with snow white hair and frosty eyebrows, clothed in rags worn away to nothing by the ravaging wind of the desert. The figure was eerily quiet and serene; her thin limbs were tucked neatly around her as if sheʼd just curled up and gone to sleep._

_"Well," Sarah murmured, "were you expecting to die out here along with the rest of them?"_

_"Very probably."_

_Sarah looked up to see the Doctor. He was dressed as she remembered him, in his gray coat, faded waistcoat, and hopelessly dilapidated shoes. His scarf flapped around him in the wind. His eyes were a petrifying blue, like chipped ice. A part of Sarah had been expecting him to show himself eventually._

_"We all end up here, Sarah Jane," he explained gently. "Even you and me."_

_"Where is this place?"_

_The Doctor arched an eyebrow and gestured to the landscape around him. "Don't you know?" _

_Sarah looked up. The sky simmered with the black clouds. They seemed to telescope closer the longer she stared, but they provided no __answers._

_"We're dead, Sarah. Dead as proverbial doornails."_

_"Oh. Are we?" Sarah surprised herself by not feeling particularly surprised. "That explains the flying, then."_

_The Doctor chuckled. "Death does have its perks."_

_"But why us?" she smiled sadly. Death may have had its perks, but it was still death. "What happened? What did we do wrong to end up here?"_

_"Do you know, I can't quite remember. The only reality I know now is this reality. Everything before has evanesced from my mind. I can't even remember if I've regenerated. Pity."_

_"And what about her?" Sarah gestured to the still figure in the sand. "She's still breathing. She's unconscious; she's certainly not dead."_

_The Doctor frowned. "Yes, it does make things rather awkward, doesn't it, Sarah Jane?"_

_"How do you mean?"_

_"Well . . . we have to kill her now, don't we?"_

_Sarah looked at him, startled. "Do we? That's not very nice."_

_"Death _isn't_ very nice, but death is the last real thing we have left to hold on to. Her being alive is antithetical to everything we know to be true about our new existences. I'll do it, if you would rather not."_

_"She does look rather sick . . ."_

_"Mmm. Radiation poisoning, I would say."_

_"We would be doing her a kindness, wouldn't we?"_

_"We would be putting her out of her misery."_

_Sarah sighed. "Alright then. Do what you have to."_

_The Doctor nodded solemnly. As he approached the still figure, he loosened his scarf from around his neck. He wound it tightly around his fingers and pulled it taught as he kneeled down next to her. He eyed her neck thoughtfully._

_"I __am sorry about this you know," he told Sarah sincerely. "But you can't be alive in the land of the dead. I can't have this last truth made false by your inconvenient viability, now can I?"_

_Alarm constricted Sarah's throat. The Doctor was no longer speaking about the woman in the sand. "But I'm not alive! It's her, not me!"_

_"Not yet," the Doctor's smile looked wickedly bright in the shadowy half-light. "But you soon will be."_

_The scarf came down. "No! No wait! STOP!"_

_"STOP IT!"_

_By the time Sarah realized the woman in the sand was herself, it was too late._


	14. Music Man

"Doctor!"

Sarah Jane jolted awake. She felt distinctly feverish; her skin burned and her matted hair clung to the back of her neck. Her heart hammered against her ribs. For a few terrifying moments, she couldn't remember where she was. The room was pitch black. The shadows seemed to cling to her. Sarah closed her eyes, and then opened them again, but it made no difference. If not for the hard surface under her legs, Sarah could have fooled herself into believing she was floating through the vacuum of deep space, alone in the void.

Her breathing became labored. She felt her lungs heaving, her throat constricting. She froze on the bed, paralyzed by panic.

Sarah bunched the sleeve of her shirt in a fist and took a few deep, measured breaths. Her clothes were made from a light, spongy material she didn't recognize. The mesh-like fabric brought back her memories of the last few hours. She was in a guest room in the Senatorial Spire, the central hub of the Ministry of the Twin Suns. She had been given Miravalan clothes by a few cowled, silent servants. Her dinner had consisted of a stringy bean called _yamatwe_ and a single glass of tepid water. She had fallen asleep almost as soon as she had laid down on the narrow bed.

Since arriving on Miraval, her life had flashed by in a blur of incomprehension. So much had happened. So much had changed. Sarah couldn't understand how she had been allowed to remain alive in the first place. After her outburst in the Senatorial Chamber, she was sure General Terosius was going to place her under the tender mercies of Underminister Lorenan. Lei Renwood, the High Minister, had stopped Lorenan's hand but had disappeared immediately afterward. He hadn't said a word to her. Captain Vondell had been left to escort Sarah to her quarters, and he had given her the silent treatment as well.

As Sarah had departed the Senatorial Chamber, she had felt the baleful eyes of Lorenan burning into the back of her head, tracking her every step as Vondell steered her away. She knew in that moment that she had made an enemy in Ninagirsu. She would have to be careful not to cross paths with the Underminister again.

Sarah glanced around her quarters as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Aside from the narrow cot, the circular room contained a desk, a chair, and a small table. Her bowl was still there from dinner. There was a single window built into the curved wall above her head, but it was dark outside. Even the bright neon lights of Ninagirsu had been extinguished. True in form to a theocratical society under absolute control, the entire city were adhering to a lights-out curfew.

"I have to get out of here," murmured Sarah. She swung herself out of bed. The floor, made of a thick, opaque crystal, was ice against the soles of her bare feet. Vondell had confiscated her old clothes, which included, much to Sarah's annoyance, her slippers. Ignoring the chill racing up her legs, she made a beeline for the door.

Sarah Jane remembered the Doctor mentioning something called the Fast Return Switch at one point during their travels. According to the Doctor, it would return the TARDIS to its last landing place. The ship would be catapulted back on its track through time and space like string of elastic. Sarah reasoned if she could reach the TARDIS, she could send both it and her back to Earth.

"Granted, the last place the TARDIS landed was Antarctica in 1976, but at least it wouldn't be here. At least it wouldn't be bloody Miraval," Sarah muttered to herself. There was no door to her room, just another gleaming black archway covered by a curtain of blue light: a force field, like the one filling the entrance of the Senatorial Chamber.

Sarah reached out a tentative hand. She flinched, ready for an electric shock or the whine of alarm klaxons. To her surprise, her fingers passed straight through the flickering force field. She shrugged, didn't allow herself to consider the implications for long, and stepped through the archway.

The adjoining arched chamber was perfectly symmetric. The ceiling was curved and dotted with reflective patches of silver. Sarah glanced up, and for a moment she thought she was looking at a vast constellation of stars. The long, dark floor was checkered with alternating squares of white and black crystal. Glowing orbs like fairy lights hung suspended from sconces on the walls. Sarah padded along the corridor on tiptoe, weary of any Miravalan guards. She hurried; the quiet made her decidedly uneasy.

"If I can get to the Senatorial Chamber, I can find my way to that outer platform. Maybe there's a sand skimmer I can use." Sarah had to get out of the city. She had to get back to the TARDIS.

The Senatorial Chamber took up the entire interior of the Spire, one huge bullet inside a pistol barrel. Sarah Jane took every left turn until she came to another dark archway, larger than the rest and adorned in intricate runes, which included an indentation that looked remarkably similar to a keypad. The force field had been deactivated.

Sarah ran under the arch and into the huge room. The Senatorial Chamber was gilded in ghostly silver light. The pillars of glass lining the perimeter of the room flickered in the half-light. They rose to the ceiling and disappeared in the gloom high above her head.

The circle of chairs were empty. One of the two enormous spheres floating in midair hovered dark and unobtrusive. The other one, the smaller one, glowed bright white. Sarah paused for a moment. After the glaring, assaulting colors of the desert and the city of Ninagirsu, the satiny orb seemed almost as alien as she was. She wondered what it was supposed to be.

"Captivating, isn't it?"

Sarah yelped in surprise; her voice echoed around the huge chamber for a very long time. A thin, stooped figure emerged from the shadows behind one of the thrones. His hands were crossed behind his back. His pointed teeth gleamed. In the shadow of the silver orb, his expression was steely and brooding.

"Surprised, _Mir_ Smith?" Underminister Lorenan allowed himself a tight, thin grimace that may have been a smile. "You shouldn't be. Hadn't you wondered who deactivated the force fields, who allowed you to leave your rest chamber? Why a prisoner of war was allowed to wander the Spire on her own free will? We may be different from what you are used to dealing with, but we are far from stupid."

Sarah didn't answer him. She crossed her arms and regarded him with distinct distaste as he drew nearer. She did not answer him.

"Oh, come now, _Mir_ Smith. We are both in violation of curfew. Even though _I_ am the one who instigated the curfew in the first place, we can dispense with some of the formalities. You may speak to me as an equal."

"Perhaps I don't want to speak to you. I'm rather in a hurry, as it happens," snapped Sarah. "You're certainly singing a different tune than you were this evening, and as a journalist, I do so hate inconsistencies."

"Change comes when change is necessary," he purred. "You fascinate me."

"Pleased to hear it." She shuffled back as he stepped forward. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to dash."

Lorenan unfolded his hands and steepled his fingers. He studied her thoughtfully. "Where is there to go?"

"Anywhere but here! Goodbye, Underminister. I can't say it's been a pleasure."

Sarah turned for the adjacent archway, but Lorenan moved faster than she expected. He reached out a hand and grabbed her arm. His long fingers were like vices. Sarah didn't turn to look at him but her heart began to beat harder in her chest.

"Please let me go."

"Oh, I don't think so, _Mir_ Smith." His small chuckle was broken glass to the ears. "You are far too important to lose."

"You seemed perfectly content to have me gone earlier."

"You misunderstood me, then. I never wanted you dead. What a waste it would be! Vondell may be a dishonorable, insufferable upstart, but he was right when he said you presented a unique learning opportunity."

"The only thing I want you to learn from me," Sarah said evenly, "is what my hair looks like from the back."

She raked her nails over the flesh of Lorenan's hand. Black blood pooled over her sleeve and the Miravalan recoiled in pain and surprise. Sarah wriggled out of his grip and made a break for the archway. But though he was thin and stooped, Lorenan was much bigger than her. He took a few loping strides with his long legs and grabbed Sarah, looping his arms around her shoulders. She kicked and fought but could not break free of Lorenan's grasp. For a frail-looking fellow, he had the strength of an ox.

"That hurt, _Mir_ Smith," he hissed in her ear, his guttural voice uneven with barely-restrained fury and disbelief. Not many had the courage and the stupidity to challenge him.

Sarah snapped back, "Good! It was supposed to!"

Lorenan pulled her arms tightly behind her. Sarah winced as she felt her shoulders pop. "The Miravalan people, the sons of Valestar, represent the pure race of this world. You will provide my followers with an example of the abominations presented by deviant kind, of Miran's poison in our bloodlines!"

"Unlikely." She gasped as Lorenan shook her savagely and pulled her arms down towards the small of her back. She couldn't move.

"You will be dissected," he whispered against her cheek. "You will be taken apart piece by piece, and you will be aware of every passing second of it. You will be in agony, and it will be your punishment for the disgusting obscenity your very being presents to the sons of Valestar."

"You're insane, Lorenan. You've taken one too many trips around the twist."

"Insanity is such a subjective term, _Mir_ Smith, and I am far more concerned with objectivity. The prospect of those exquisitely pale features splitting under Professor Poleronius's scalpel fills me with delight."

_It's Parakon all over again_, thought Sarah in despair. Lorenan was an extreme sadist. He reveled in causing pain and death, in enjoying feeling those emotions in his victims. She doubted there would be any reasoning with him.

"Good nighttime, Underminister."

Aggair Vondell appeared at Sarah's side like a miracle. He was still dressed in his battle armor and he carried his plasma rifle at his side. His mouth was barely parted, so just the tips of his teeth dug into his black lips. He regarded Lorenan with lightly-veiled contempt.

"You are breaking, curfew, Captain," the Underminister snarled. He made no sign of relaxing his grip on Sarah. She could feel him trembling with anger.

"I would say I didn't take you for a hypocrite, Underminister, but I would be lying."

"How dare you, you insolent deviant!"

Vondell's expression didn't change, but he radiated an aura of fear that made Sarah's knees knock together. "The female Sarah Jane Smith is under the protection of High Minister Renwood. You will release her into my custody this instant."

Evidently, Lorenan was immune to Vondell's malice. "This creature was wandering the Spire past curfew. I believe she was trying to escape." Out of the Captain's line of sight, Lorenan dug his nails into Sarah's forearm. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. "As such, it is within my jurisdiction to administer the compulsory punishment. And rest assured I can find more than enough space in the White Room for you as well, _Val_ Vondell, if your interference continues."

"_Val_ Lorenan, if you do not relinquish _Mir_ Smith in the next few _microtoles_, I will not hesitate to use force."

"You're bluffing. I am the Underminister of Miraval, Speaker of the Will of Valestar. You wouldn't _dare_."

Vondell leveled his plasma rifle at Lorenan's chest and flicked the force control past the maximum stun setting. "I never bluff. This weapon is set to kill power. Release her. Now."

The two Miravalans stared at each other, unblinking. Their eyes smoldered and Sarah could feel the anger radiating between them like heat from an oven top.

Finally, Lorenan's vice-like grip relaxed and he pushed Sarah away. She stumbled and Vondell steadied her. His bright eyes never left Lorenan and he did not immediately lower his weapon.

"You will regret your interference, _Val_ Vondell," promised Lorenan. "I will not forget this."

"I don't doubt it, Underminister."

"And you," he leveled a gnarled finger at Sarah Jane. "One step out of line, one _iota_ of dissent towards the High Minister, and you're mine."

With as much dignity as he could muster, Underminister Lorenan swept up his cloak and stalked out of the Senatorial Chamber. Sarah couldn't breathe normally again until the echo of his footsteps faded away into silence.

"Thank you," she murmured.

Vondell reholstered his plasma rifle, but Sarah noted that he had neglected to reset the stun setting. "For what, exactly?"

"For saving my bacon."

Vondell stared at her uncomprehendingly. "The phrase does not translate well."

"For saving my life," Sarah reiterated. "I don't know what Lorenan would have done had you not arrived when you did."

"I do," Vondell said enigmatically. "I would be averse to thanking me yet, _Mir_ Smith. I was performing my duty to the High Minister. I couldn't allow Lorenan's infelicitous agenda to get in the way of your summons."

Sarah parroted, "Summons?"

"From the High Minister. He wished to speak with you. I went immediately to your rest chamber and, upon finding it empty, searched for you within the Spire. Lorenan's voice is so adenoidal someone across the campus could have heard him. And yours is quite unmistakable."

"Oh?"

"Your voice sounds rather like that a breathy youngling with a structural defect in the vocal chords."

Sarah grunted, "Charming."

He beckoned her towards the archway. "Follow me, please. I would prefer if you would not try to escape again. You may have noticed my weapon is still set to terminating power."

Vondell didn't need to say much for his threat to sound menacing. "And here I was," Sarah muttered darkly, "thinking I'd finally caught a break."

"I did warn you not to thank me."

* * *

"High Minister Renwood?"

Sarah tried to look over Vondell's broad shoulder. The figure from earlier was sitting on a dais, legs crossed, hands on his knees. His closed eyelids fluttered and occasionally his cheek twitched. He was deep in meditation.

Sarah wanted to say something to break the man out of his reverie, but thought better of it. She nudged Captain Vondell emphatically and he glared daggers at her. Then he returned his attention back to his leader.

"High Minister Renwood. Your Eminance?" Greet again with unbroken silence, Aggair Vondell sighed a deep sigh, and then said very gently, "Lei, there is someone here to see you."

Sarah looked up at him in surprise. She arched her eyebrows until they disappeared under her bangs. There was no denying the vein of compassion that laced Vondell's words. The young, still figure seemed to respond to the Captain's uncharacteristic kindness. Renwood lifted his bowed head with some effort. His heterochromic eyes, one orange and one gold, seemed to gaze through Vondell and Sarah Jane. They couldn't seem to focus. The High Minister appeared to be staring at something unreachable in the far distance, trying to snatch it back with the force of his gaze.

"I dreamt about time," he said quietly. Unlike the rest of the Miravalans Sarah had encountered, Renwood's voice was soft and musical. "I dreamt about a milky white river flowing between the stars and sweeping Miraval into the everlasting darkness. We were carried so fast and so far away that soon we floated past our own futures. We were lost and forgotten."

Vondell listened. There was no trace of impatience or frustration in his eyes. He asked, "And did it mean anything to you, High Minister?"

Renwood's youthful features clouded, and suddenly he wore the mask of a much older man. "We are eating ourselves."

Sarah Jane felt a stab of pity. The High Minister was as nutty as a fruitcake. For such a logical individual, Vondell did not seem to notice Renwood's peculiarities, or if he did, he was well-versed in accepting them without comment.

"The tails goes in, the teeth crunch, the tail grows, the tail goes in, the teeth crunch," Renwood babbled, "going nowhere. Is this _Mir_ Smith?"

The sudden question took Sarah by surprise, but Captain Vondell seemed used to his leader's perambulating chain of thought. "Yes, Your Eminance. Step forward please, _Mir_ Smith."

Sarah approached the young Miravalan on the dais. His midnight black skin and white robes gave him an ethereal appearance, and his miscolored eyes made Sarah feel a new sort of invisible. He could see her well enough, but she worried he could see a part of her even she didn't know existed.

"You are very small," Renwood said simply.

Sarah didn't know what to say. It was true; all the other Miravalans were well over six feet tall and as broad as center fullbacks. She must have looked like a ghost with wasting sickness.

"You can talk," he added. "I'm not allowed to speak with myself anymore, you know. Lorenan says only the Forevertime answers the mutterings of the insane. He says I should stop being mad. As if I can! How silly!"

"_Val_ Lorenan didn't strike me as the counseling type, uh, Your Eminance." Sarah immediately clamped her mouth shut, terrified she had said too much. She didn't want to push her luck with the Miravalan government any more than she already had.

But Renwood smiled. It was the first time Sarah had seen a Miravalan smile a happy smile, and the High Minister looked centuries younger for it. "You have a fire in your heart, Sarah Jane Smith."

She coughed awkwardly. "Well, I certainly like to think so."

"Where do you come from?"

"I don't think you'd believe me."

The High Minister blinked his wide eyes like an owl. "Then tell me a story. Reality doesn't matter in stories."

"If you insist." Sarah racked her brain for a moment. For some reason, the lyrics of Meredith Willson sprang to mind. She took a deep breath, and began, "Once upon a time, there was a man made of music. He lived many lifetimes, and each figment of himself was its own separate song in one big symphony. When one song ended, another would begin, and the man would change. When the fourth song of this special man's life began, he took me away in a music box that was bigger on the inside than the outside, like a memory stored in a locket. As we sang together we discovered more about the greater song of the universe around us, about its pitch and time signature and melody. One day, our travels brought us here, to Miraval. But . . ."

Sarah grew quiet. The memory still hurt. The empty place in her life was still raw around the edges, difficult to brush up against.

"Please go on," Renwood urged.

She closed her eyes and finished the tale. "The music man made a mistake. He left the magical box and someone . . . silenced him. Now the music man sings no more, and I miss him something terribly."

A solitary tear rolled down her cheek. Sarah felt someone studying her. It was Aggair Vondell, but she couldn't decipher the calculating meaning behind his eyes. Renwood, on the other hand, looked almost enraptured.

"So it is true. I am not being stupid."

Sarah frowned. "About what, Your Eminance?"

"You come from . . . beyond Miraval? Beyond the sky?"

"I come from Earth, a planet many millions of miles and many thousands of years from here. I'm far away from home."

Renwood nodded, and Sarah got the nagging feeling he had made up his mind about something. "I am not crazy. I am not. It really _is_ you."

"Uh . . . who, exactly?"

"You come from outside Miraval and beyond the time of birth and rebirth, like the music man. Your hair is dark like Valestar's and yet you wear the pale cloak of his sister."

"Miran," Sarah finished, realization beginning to sink to the pit of her stomach like a bowling ball.

Renwood exclaimed, "I bid you welcome to the middle realm of _Menina_, Goddess. Miran has come among us once again in the infinite darkness!"

Sarah sighed to herself, "Oh pants."


	15. Eight for a Wish

_When he returned to the deep vaults she was standing before the black archway . . . again. It was the third time in as many microturns. _

_He cleared his throat, hoping to catch her attention, but she did not move, did not seem to hear his approach. Her long arms hung limp by her sides. IShe cradled her_ yari_ spear in one slack fist_._ Her clothes were filthy and matted with dried sweat. Her white hair had grown waxy and yellow from the sand storms outside. The shadows from within the sanctuary reflected in her eyes, obscuring the thoughts behind them. Any emotions, if they existed at all, were well-hidden behind a mask of dispassion._

_"She won't see you," Verric said gently. "The Prophet has refused you an audience ever since you returned from your self-induced exile on the wall. She isn't ready for you yet, Ariassi, and you aren't ready for her."_

_Ariassi did not turn to look at him. Even though her expression was unreadable, her voice trembled. "I need to speak with her."_

_"Evidently, the Prophet doesn't feel the same way."_

_"She's trying to keep me away!" Ariassi growled, her anger boiling over, "Does she think she can hide away from me forever, from the promises she's made me? Is she such a coward?"_

_Verric looked at his friend sadly. "No more so than you or I."_

_"Then . . ." Ariassi took a deep, shuddering breath. Her chest felt heavy with the weight of the words and quiet tears pricked her eyes. "All things considered, I'll take that as a yes."_

_Verric stepped forward. Ariassi's tall form, usually held high with such rigidity he thought her spine would snap in half, was shaking from suppressed sobs. It was unnatural to see her so vulnerable. He placed a kind hand on her shoulder._

_"You are not a coward, Ariassi," said Verric firmly. "There is nothing you could possibly do to convince me otherwise."_

_Her spear felt very heavy in her hand. "Then why am I so afraid of dying?"_

_"I think anyone who isn't is a fool. There is no bravery in stubbornly denying the inevitable."_

_"It's not just dying," she said. "I am so, so frightened to go through the Scar to fight. I am ashamed to know that Atigona would have been incredibly disappointed in me."_

_Verric looked past Ariassi and into the shadows of the Prophet's sanctuary. He thought of the ghostly figure hiding in the darkness, and wished he could see half as far as the Prophet could. He would welcome some answers._

_"Fighting on the other side of the Scar is paramount to dying, and it isn't cowardly to fear death. Nor is it cowardly," he whispered, "to run away from it."_

_Ariassi looked up at him sharply. "What are you saying?"_

_"You don't have to go," Verric insisted. "Every male and female who has stepped through that abominable tear in the sky has never returned. Did you know that this settlement was once enormous? Every 50 microturns when the Scar opens our numbers are slashed, our future whittled away. Your birth turn is one of the last generations left, Ariassi. Don't be so keen to throw your life away so quickly."_

_"What other options are there?" she asked bitterly. "The radiation on Miraval will eventually kill us all anyway. Is it not better to die in hope than to live in hopelessness? Isn't that what I'm supposed to think?"_

_"I doubt even the Prophet could tell you that. But if I may be so bold, nobody should influence your own beliefs. Remember your fear. That fear anchors you to this life. Your journey to the Forevertime is a long way away, Ariassi. You still have to meet the Doctor. You have yet to discover that destiny for yourself."_

_Ariassi hid her eyes in the palm of her hand. A few stray tears squeezed between her fingers. "I don't know what to do, Verric. I want Atigona back even though I know she would urge me to fight. I want the Doctor to help me understand my fate but I could never bring myself to put my faith in a stranger. I don't want to die, but I should. I just . . . don't know where to go from here."_

_Without giving himself time to think, Verric gathered her up into his arms. He held her as he felt her tense against his shoulder._

_"What is this?"_

_"It's what little comfort I can give," he said quietly._

_"It doesn't really help," Ariassi murmured, but Verric felt her returning the hug, "but thanks anyway."_

_"Do you mind if I don't let go?"_

_"I would welcome it."_

_"Good." Verric allowed himself a small smile. "Because I would welcome it too."_

_They stood together for a long time, each taking some small reassurance from the other's presence. Neither said a word, and both Verric and Ariassi felt as though they didn't need to speak to be understood._


	16. Thoughtspeak

"Ariassi, move!"

The Doctor dove to the side, catching the stubborn Miravalan in a rugby tackle that would have made Brian O'Driscoll proud. They landed in a tangled pile of flailing arms and legs. The Doctor expected Ariassi to shout, but she was too busy spluttering and spitting sand out of her mouth to be angry with him.

The Teridon was a ceiling of scaly, muscular shadow as she soared over their heads and landed on the slope behind them. She snuffled the ground and hissed in disappointment when her claws passed through open air. She turned to glare at the Doctor. Hunger blazed in her myriad eyes and her black lips curled to reveal teeth the size of inordinately large steak knives, serrated and wickedly sharp. The Doctor was already hauling the dazed Ariassi to her feet. He did not dare take his eyes off the huge creature.

"Come on, come on!" he growled to his companion. Ariassi pulled her hand out of his grip and regarded him with a level of malice that rivaled that of the Teridon.

"Leave me!"

"No."

"Get yourself to safety, Doctor, while I distract the beast. There is no need for both of us to die."

"Brave of you, young lady, for the thirty seconds you remain alive to actually do an ounce of good." The Teridon's tail slammed into the sand. The Doctor had to jump to one side at the last minute to avoid being flattened. The scaly appendage whistled as it sliced the air next to his ear. The spikes running the length of the Teridon's spine gleamed dangerously in the moonlight. "I'm not leaving you, not while I'm stuck in Miraval's future. I need you."

"Allow me the dignity of a warrior's death. This is my choice!"

"Arrant nonsense! I have harsh news, Ariassi . . . as soon as you Miravalans decided to meddle with your own timeline, free will became nothing more than a stubbornly persistent illusion. You are now no more than a victim of consequence. Give me that!"

Ariassi looked both enraged and stunned when the Doctor wrenched her _yari_ spear out of her grasp. He hefted it in both hands as the Teridon prepared to charge them again. He tried to remember his Sōjutsu lessons from Saigō Takamori; his third persona always did have a penchant for hand-to-hand combat.

The Teridon reared onto her hind legs and bellowed at the nebula splashed across the night sky. The red light from the pillars of gas reflected in her scales; muscle and sinew rippled like sheets of flame. The Teridon dropped down to all fours, pawed the sand, and charged. The Doctor bared his full set of wolfish teeth and brandished the spear across his chest.

"Rotate shoulders anticlockwise, let your hands follow the swing," he murmured.

When the Teridon reached him the Doctor thrust his right arm forward and dropped his left shoulder, allowing the blade to graze the creature. It was no more than a glancing blow off the Teridon's iron-sided flanks, but it was enough to draw the beast's attention away from Ariassi.

"Rotate hips anticlockwise to give the attack a little more force."

The Doctor switched his footing in the loose sand and thrust the spear at the Teridon's shoulders. The creature hissed and spat in what was little more than annoyance. Her scales were unnaturally strong. She extended her leathery frill until she blocked out Mirari's moonlight, and then the silhouette snapped her jaws an inch from where the Doctor had been standing. As the Teridon lowered her head the Doctor feinted to the left and then jabbed the blunt end of the spear's shaft into one of her many eyes.

The Teridon pawed at her bloodied face, but her lowest right eye had become nothing more than a sightless milky sphere. The Doctor brought his right hand up and back and allowed his left hand to drop, angling the spearhead towards the ground. He crouched low in the sand. He knew that the creature's scales were strong enough to withstand a direct hit. He tried desperately to remember Saigō's lessons about attacking larger opponents. Somehow, he couldn't imagine the samurai's advice including instructions for single combat with giant alien lizards.

One blind eye did not inhibit the Teridon's sight. She saw that the Doctor's blade had been lowered and renewed her attack. She unsheathed her claws like scimitars and opened her mouth wide enough to swallow three Miravalans. Ariassi choked down an involuntary gasp.

Just before the Doctor disappeared down the Teridon's gullet, his shoulders rotated clockwise and he braced himself on bent legs. Leading with his right hand, his muscles uncoiled and he thrust the spear upward and into the bottom of the Teridon's foot.

The Doctor dove to the side as the Teridon careened past him. Her roars of pain and disbelief shook the desert. Ariassi had been wise enough to move out of the way of the enraged creature as she charged across the desert bucking and snarling. Clearly, the Miravalan still retained some notion of self-preservation.

"Are you just going to stand there admiring the scenery?!" bellowed the Doctor through ragged intakes of breath. The Teridon had recovered quickly from the wound and was regarding the Doctor with a murderous expression.

Ariassi hesitated for only a split second. "Give me that!"

The Doctor tossed her the spear and Ariassi caught it without tearing her eyes off the beast. As soon as the weapon was in her hand Ariassi sprinted towards the Teridon.

"What do you think you're doing?!" squawked the Doctor. He wondered if he hadn't made a monumental mistake. "The settlement is the other way!"

Ariassi adjusted her grip on the spear until it was pointed _away_ from the Teridon, with the blade thrust upward into the air. Her right arm was bent at a 180 degree angle. Unlike the Doctor, she grasped the shaft firmly in a single white-knuckled fist. Her left arm was pumping, adding momentum to her sprint. Roaring a challenge, the Teridon ran to meet Ariassi's charge. The fire in the creature's eyes was beyond a primordial desire to kill. It was hatred, and if the Doctor didn't know better, a personal loathing that hinted at a substantial reasoning intelligence. He had seen that gaze before. He had felt it directed _at _him by many of the most malicious creatures in the universe . . . the Master, Sutekh, Harrison Chase . . .

_Cogito ergo sum_

The spark was in the Teridon's eyes. The Doctor realized with a start that the creature was _sentient_, and that she was going to tear Ariassi to shreds if Ariassi attacked her head-on.

"Wait!" the Doctor cried out. "Stop!"

Just when the Doctor thought Ariassi was about to become Miraval's largest delicatessen steak, she planted her cloven feet and allowed herself to fall back onto the sand. She hit the ground with such force the wind must have been knocked out of her lungs. As the Teridon galloped over her, Ariassi's right arm snapped like a spring-loaded trap and suddenly the blade of the spear was embedded in the creature's underbelly, where her scales were soft and flexible. The Doctor's eyes bulged.

The Teridon let out a groan. She shifted unsteadily on her feet before lurching to the side. Ariassi shuffled forward on her elbows until she was out from underneath the swaying bulk of the creature. Breathing hard, she ran to stand beside the Doctor. The Teridon warbled in pain and crashed to the ground. Ariassi's _yari_ spear protruded from the wound in her chest, its shaft haloed by black blood the color of motor oil which dripped into the sand and stained the desert.

"What have you done?" muttered the Doctor, his voice a mere whisper with the measure of his horror.

Ariassi was breathing heavily. She looked strangely bereft without her spear. "I have made the decision to live. There would be no purpose to my suicide if you killed yourself in the effort of preventing it."

"For which I am grateful, but that creature was intelligent! You didn't have to kill it!"

"_Her_. All Teridon are female. They were designed that way."

The Doctor felt his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish's out of water. He felt as though he had missed an incredibly important detail. "_Designed?!_"

"The Teridon were engineered by Ninagirsun scientists during the War in Heaven. The god's followers designed the perfect weapon, one which had the mental capacity to differentiate friend from foe based on certain biological implants given Valestar's soldiers by their generals. The scales of each Teridon were engineered to be impervious to the projectile weapons used by our ancestors. Each Teridon has four pairs of eyes, and each eye is able to distinguish eight different wavelengths of the light spectrum. The creatures were engineered female as a joke. Miran to destroy Miran."

"Hilarious," the Doctor muttered darkly. "I'm splitting my sides."

Ariassi studied him in concern, considered saying something, and then thought better of it. "Unfortunately, the implants didn't work. The soldiers of Valestar became as vulnerable to attack as those of Miran. The Teridon killed their creator and everyone they encountered. If they have evolved an intelligence, Doctor, then it is a broken one from a broken past. Besides," Ariassi glanced over her shoulder and added ruefully, "that Teridon is not dead. Yet."

The Doctor awarded Ariassi with a scowl and walked over to the Teridon. He approached her very slowly, wary of her unsheathed claws. She was moaning deep in her throat. Black blood pooled in the corners of her mouth and every breath was wheezy and damp. Alarm flashed across her seven functioning eyes as the Doctor approached, but she was too weak to fight him. She barely had the energy to curl her lip and growl a warning.

"There, there," the Doctor said soothingly. His voice was deep and placating. "I'm not going to hurt you."

The Teridon tried to shift forward, but every time she moved, Ariassi's spearhead sank deeper into her chest. She fell back with a moan of pain, panting in exhaustion.

"Lay still." Without thinking, the Doctor placed a calloused hand on her reptilian snout.

**_It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts there is pain Protocol X cannot understand Protocol X cannot stop it there is pain it hurts help me help me help me_**

The Doctor reeled back in surprise and snatched his hand away as if burnt. His head thudded. His ears rang with the sound of screams, though no one had been screaming. His body trembled with a sudden chill and he felt tiny tears trickle down his eyelashes. He didn't know why he was crying.

"Doctor," Ariassi took a tentative step forward, but the snarling Teridon stopped her coming very close, "what's wrong?"

"Ah . . . ahem." The Doctor batted the tears away and sniffed. He folded and unfolded his shirt sleeves self-consciously. "This creature is telepathic, Ariassi. Do you know what that means?"

She shook her head, the Doctor's words yet again unfamiliar to her.

"The Teridon communicate by sharing their thoughts. Mind melding." The Doctor was steadily running out of metaphors. "Erm . . . through nonverbal communication. Psychic projection."

"_Thoughtspeak_." Ariassi's eyes widened. "The Prophet has the same gift. Sometimes, I don't need to say a word for the Prophet to understand me."

"Sounds like an interesting fellow, your Prophet."

Ariassi ignored him, much to the Doctor's exasperation. Her frown could have chiseled granite. "This means that the Teridon have had the ability to communicate for turns and have chosen instead to butcher us without compunction."

"_I'm_ subconsciously telepathic," the Doctor snapped testily, "and I can tell you now that you Miravalans haven't got an extrasensory bone in your bodies, this Prophet chap notwithstanding. Even if the Teridon _wanted_ to communicate with you, whom they clearly regard as the more primitive lifeform, they wouldn't have been able to. Every creature must survive. The Teridon are obviously carnivorous, but they have as much right to live as your people."

"By murdering us? By murdering my mother?" Ariassi asked, her voice deadly calm. The Doctor would have preferred her shouting.

The Time Lord wrangled with his conscience. If the Teridon were heedless killers like the Daleks he would not have disagreed with Ariassi. He lived in the hope that his worst enemies could change for the better and evolve the ability to see the folly and utter uselessness of endless bloodshed. But he knew, deep in his hearts, that the universe could not afford his mercy. While he hoped and dreamed, those like the Daleks were free to exterminate and the innocents were left to pay the heavy price.

But the Teridon were not Daleks. The Doctor had touched the mind of an individual and she had been frightened, terrified, in fact. She had pleaded for help. She did not understand the concept of death like the Daleks did, and the Doctor doubted she ever would. The measure of her fear demonstrated the extent of her mental refinement. The Teridon communicated through their emotions; they had evolved perfect control of the abstract concepts of thought to the point where they could express their deepest desires through a single synaptic spark. It was a far more sophisticated method of communication than even a Time Lord could appreciate in full.

The Doctor finally answered, "What other options are there?" He was aware of how callous he sounded. "Miraval is a harsh world."

"Would you say the same if you were one of us?"

"Would you say the same if you were a Teridon?" retorted the Doctor.

Ariassi fell into a stony silence before she muttered, "The Teridon are animals, monsters."

"Then what does that make the Miravalan race, hmm? Your ancestors unwittingly created intelligent life, but it was intelligent life engineered for the sole purpose of fighting a war which would go on to decimate your planet. Who does that make the true monsters, Ariassi?"

The Doctor left his companion to ponder as he gazed forlornly at the dying Teridon. She cooed like a mourning dove and he knelt down next to her massive head. "And yet," he murmured, "the Teridon's thoughts are among the most beautiful I have ever touched."

She regarded the Doctor sleepily through half-closed eyelids. Incredibly, she summoned enough energy to lift her snout until it rested underneath the Doctor's palm, establishing contact again.

**_Help me help me . . . help me_**

The mind of the Teridon, connected to the Doctor's own across a thread of conscience, was tinged with foamy splotches of black, like the blood pooling in her lungs. Any coherent thoughts were white-washed into bleak, unending fields of fear and incomprehension. The Doctor closed his eyes and concentrated. He tried to send calming thoughts to the Teridon. He gave her his happy memories.

He imagined treading across a beach in Florana, where the sand felt like cotton as it oozed between his toes and the breeze smelt of lavender when it tussled his hair. He imagined laying back on a moss-covered tor in the Eye of Orion, watching the sunset as he munched on jelly babies, his only worry being what to do when the sun went down. He imagined standing in front of the TARDIS console with Sarah Jane at his side. She was laughing at something he had said, probably a bad joke only she would ever admit to finding funny. The TARDIS was hovering in the Vortex. A whole universe was waiting to be explored, but it was the last thing on the Doctor's mind as he savored the twinkle in Sarah's eyes and watched her smile a broad, happy smile.

**_Love_**

The Teridon let out a wet, heavy sigh, her lungs finally expiring. The Doctor pursed his lips into a grim line and stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets. He watched as the Teridon rested her head against the sand and closed her gemstone eyes. She did not move again.

"The Prophet could have told you."

Both the Doctor and Ariassi turned around in surprise. A Miravalan was striding across the desert towards them, a purpose in his step. He was small and thin and stooped like a much older man. His wide eyes had once been hazel but were reflective like dinner plates in the moonlight. He walked with his arms folded across his chest. It was a posture the Doctor found unaccountably familiar.

"Verric?" Ariassi mouthed in disbelief.

Verric refused to acknowledge Ariassi and instead looked earnestly at the Doctor. "The Prophet could have told you the Teridon were telepathic."

"It hardly matters whether I knew," the Doctor said emphatically, "what concerns me is why the Prophet didn't bother to tell his own people. Some sort of agreement could have been reached. Nobody had to die tonight or any other night."

"The Prophet has her reasons. I won't pretend to know them." Verric regarded Ariassi with a disappointed frown. "All I can do is hope people have the sense to know when to listen to them."

Instead of arguing as the Doctor expected, Ariassi looked dejectedly at her coven feet and said nothing.

"You are the Doctor, I presume?"

The Doctor flashed Verric a wan smile that still managed to show too many teeth. "I've had quite enough Miravalan welcomes to last me my next several lifetimes, thank you."

"Then allow me to greet you like a Terran." Verric extended a hand. The Doctor took it cautiously and the young man shook it as any human would. "It is a true honor and a privilege to meet you at last, Doctor."

Ariassi and the Doctor exchanged quizzical frowns. "I take it you've heard of me before?" asked the Time Lord.

"Indeed. The Prophet speaks of no one else!" Verric finally made eye contact with Ariassi. There was a tenderness in his gaze that made the Doctor immediately embarrassed to come between it. "I'm glad you are unharmed, Ariassi. The roars of the Teridon could be heard inside the settlement, and I feared—"

"You are forbidden to leave the Prophet's sanctuary, Verric," Ariassi interrupted gently, more for the Doctor's sake than her own, "there must be a good reason."

Verric's hazel eyes closed. He stood in silence for a few moments before admitting, his voice thick, "There isn't much time left. After these many, many turns, the Prophet is dying."

Ariassi staggered backwards a few steps. "No . . . no, she can't be."

"She knows you are here, Doctor," Verric insisted, "she must speak with you before the end. Please."

The Doctor shifted awkwardly, but he nodded. "I'll come. I always do."


	17. Nine for a Kiss

_I don't know how long I lay in silence, waiting to die. I retreated to the quiet places within my mind, into the darkness that wrapped itself around me and cradled me in the void. In my solitude I found my only comfort._

_The moments passed until each second became as long as a lifetime and each hour an entire age of the universe. The suns burned me until they scorched away even the pain, leaving nothing more than an ache that went deeper than my skin and into the depths of my heart. The sand wore me away to a husk of dried flesh and bone. Every night when I gazed at the stars they seemed to come a little bit closer. Sometimes I imagined myself rising into the sky. I wanted to fly amongst the stars and become a part of the fields of darkness rolling across the ceiling of the heavens._

_I began to lose my teeth. One nameless day amongst thousands, my throat, which was once as arid as the silent desert around me, ran slick with hot blood. I choked on the deluge and spat my teeth out of my bleeding gums. Droplets of maroon and flecks of white littered the golden sand. There was no pain. As the days passed, even my revulsion turned to acceptance. When I began to feel my body changing, I did not feel fear. I thought I had finally found the harbingers of death I had been waiting for. My limbs shrank. I began to vomit. I put a hand to my burning scalp and my fingers came away with patches of scorched hair. Soon I was lying in a pillow of my sun-bleached locks. I may have cried a little then, but I was too sick to care._

_A raven alighted on my chest. Its claws clicked lightly on my bones, but it did not hurt. It cocked its head as it studied me with sorrowful, pale blue eyes. A part of me wondered if ravens had blue eyes. It clicked its beak and lay its head on my chin. It stayed there for so long I began to understand that it couldn't be real. When the raven flew away I was very sad._

_I dreamt of walking over a vast ocean as smooth as the face of a mirror. The surface was unbroken even by my footsteps. I skipped over the minute ripples as if they were nothing more than tiny abrasions in a sheet of translucent ice. The huge, open sky above me was a vast nebula splashed with taches of color. Shining shades of green and blue and brilliant red swirled above my head into complex helixes of gas. The firmament was speckled with thousands of stars. I knew that every star was a distant sun, and around each sun there orbited perhaps dozens of planets, dozens of possible worlds filled with people who looked at the sky as I did and wished for death. Vertigo loomed at the sheer scale and significance of the unbroken starscape. I suddenly seemed very small, but __that was okay._

_I looked down at my feet. The fabric of deep space was mirrored in the perfectly smooth face of the water. I walked the fine border between two impossibilities, stepping over stars and hopping between columns of iridescent gas. I stretched out my arms and saw the shadows of my fingers run through the nebula's tresses. I finally felt as though I were flying._

_My arms were still outstretched when someone took my hand in a strong grip. He attempted to pull me to my feet, but my body had become a part of the sand and I had no wish to go. I was so close to death, so close . . ._

_I may have said something. I don't remember. I thought I was still dreaming when I felt myself bundled into someone's arms and carried across the desert, towards the shadows of figures who gestured to me earnestly._

_I heard a voice from far away. "Who are you?" he asked._

_I looked into the sky and glimpsed the infinite expanses of the universe, and so I told him, "I am the Prophet of all of time and space."_


	18. Sarah on the Senate Floor

**Happy New Year everyone!**

**That-Other-Doctor Θ∑**

* * *

"He wants me to do _what?!_"

Captain Vondell wondered if _Mir_ Smith had developed a hearing deficiency. He cleared his throat and reiterated, "High Minister Renwood has requested your attendance at the convening of Senate in one _tole_."

Sarah crossed her arms and glowered, though the effect was greatly lessoned by the dark rings under her bloodshot, sleepless eyes. "Will Lorenan be there? And Terosius?"

"Please show them the respect of office, _Mir _Smith."

"Sorry . . ." Sarah wasn't very sorry, but she hardly thought antagonizing one of her only allies would get her anywhere. "Will _Val_ Lorenan and _Val _Terosius be in attendance?"

"Of course," Vondell said patronizingly. "They are both senior officials and personal advisors to the High Minister."

"I got the impression you weren't too fond of _Val_ Lorenan."

"My opinion of the Underminister is of little consequence. I have the right to speak as I will during a convening of Senate. What he chooses to make of my points of order is his own business. I don't concern myself with his opinions of me, just as I do not of him."

"After last night, I think it may be in your interests to start being concerned. He was more than a little cross, you know." Sarah involuntarily shivered at the memory. There were purple finger marks on her arm.

Vondell continued, "I am in the High Minister and General Terosius's favor. Lorenan will not harm me, not if he wishes to remain a member of the Senate. You, on the other hand, must tread carefully in the coming microturns."

"That settles it, then. I'm _not_ coming to this meeting!" exclaimed Sarah. "I don't entirely fancy promulgating myself in front of half a dozen Miravalan men with less than cordial intentions."

"You are under the protection of the High Minister himself," argued Vondell, his patience less than abiding. "You will come to no harm."

"Be that as it may, it's _dangerous_. I don't know what hare-brained notion Renwood's got that has him convinced that I'm his precious goddess, but I'm not going to accept the role just to be his theocratical scapegoat!"

"The _High Minister _is well aware of the image Miran has in our society, and I have no doubt he has taken it into account."

"What's he playing at, though? What can he hope to accomplish by antagonizing dozens of people?"

"That is not my place to say."

"You are in the High Minister's confidence. He trusts you more than any other," said Sarah. "Surely he must have told you what he's planning?"

"It is neither my place to say _nor_ your place to know," snapped Captain Vondell in a tone that left no question that the discussion was over. He turned on his heel and made to leave Sarah's rest chamber. "I will come for you when the High Minister is ready."

As Sarah watched Vondell leave, she bit her lip against a retort. She felt her blood pounding in her skull and her temper rising until she thought steam would billow out of her ears. She said a very rude word once Vondell was well out of earshot and vented her frustration by hitting the wall with two closed fists. To her surprise and unspoken satisfaction, the delicate crystalline surface cracked. Sarah's hands bled from the splintered quartz.

"Stupid of me," she murmured, looking glumly at her cut knuckles and bloody palms. Sarah sat down on the hard surface of her bed and leant her head against the wall. She rested her hands on her knees and watched the blood harden and split.

The air inside her room was very still. The city of Ninagirsu had woken up and was going about its day without her. The domes of the city were tinted against the powerful double sunlight, casting the Spire in shadow; the blue glow emanating through her window from the city lights was the only indication of a world beyond her small room.

Sarah drew a shuddering breath. She missed the Doctor so much it hurt. She wished the TARDIS had never landed on Miraval. She wished she were back home, back where she had at least a blind clue of what was going on.

Sarah could feel circumstances spiraling out of what little control she had, and she hated feeling helpless. Ever since Lei Renwood's enthusiastic declaration of her identity, Sarah's luck had plummeted. Vondell and his guards had locked her in her room. She had sat in silence and watched the dawn break through her window. She hadn't been able to see the sunrise. Nobody had come to speak to her. She hadn't had anything to eat since the _yamatwe _bean the previous night. Sarah felt as though she had been shoved unceremoniously into the margins, but knew with a sinking feeling that she was about to become the center of a lot of unwelcome attention.

"What do I do now, eh Doctor?" Sarah sighed, "You always made it look so easy."

"Is the Doctor the Music Man?"

Sarah's head snapped up. Standing in the entrance of her room was Lei Renwood, adorned in his finest robes in preparation for the convening of Senate. She could see Captain Vondell hovering just behind him, but he was respectfully keeping his distance. The High Minister's head was cocked to one side and he wore a crooked smile. He was observing Sarah with a wide-eyed, curiously childlike expression. Sarah's thudding heart slowed and she allowed herself to relax. The High Minister eagerly awaited an answer.

"Yes," Sarah said gently, hiding her bloody hands behind her back, "yes, he is. Or rather was. Or still is, somewhere. He's not dead, and yet he's always been dead. Time is strange that way."

"Time," mused Renwood. "It's funny how such an abstract concept can seem so powerful. You don't like to think the Music Man is dead, do you?"

"No. I'm reveling in my denial."

"And that is fine," he said cheerily, "that means the Music Man lives on in your memories. I once had a friend named Kairós. My deputy minister, Amsarr Lorenan, took me aside one microturn and told me that Kairós wasn't real, that only I could see Kairós and speak to Kairós. Lorenan made Kairós go away, but I promised Kairós I would remember her, and so she never really left me. Perhaps your Music Man will never truly leave you, if you promise to keep his memory sharp in your mind."

Sarah looked up at the skinny Miravalan. He was leaning sideways on his staff, smiling his lopsided smile. His expression was one of sympathy and genuine kindness, though his mismatched eyes bored right through her forehead and stared transfixed at something in the distance.

"_Val _Lorenan doesn't do you credit, Your Eminence," said Sarah.

He chuckled. "I seem rather insane to him. I simply see a little further than most. I can look around corners, but nobody understands me because they haven't quite turned the corner yet."

"I don't think you're insane. My friend, the Music Man, would have appreciated you for who you are. You're someone special, all right, but that isn't a bad thing."

"Thank you, Sarah," Renwood said, "you are very kind."

"I thought you thought I was Miran?"

"I cannot dictate whom you can and cannot be! How ludicrous! You may be Sarah Jane Smith, or you may be Miran. You can be neither, or both, and still be that which you are. The only thing of which I am certain is my belief that you have the power to change this world for the better."

Sarah felt her stomach knotting. "So you're serious, aren't you? About attending this summit, you mean?"

"Yes."

"High Minister, Lorenan won't like it. Nobody will."

"And that is what needs to change!" he cried. "Kairós, my friend, was female. She was just as intelligent and far more compassionate than any number of males on Miraval. Why should the daughters of Miran have to hide in darkness? Can they not come out from under the shadow? I am the High Minister of the Twin Stars, Praetor of the Ministerial Senate, speaker of the will of the gods, leader of the world of Miraval, and I say _things must change_."

Sarah felt a swelling of warmth for the young, impassioned leader. "You're preaching to the choir."

"Then you will come?"

_This is a terrible idea, _thought Sarah. The Doctor wouldn't have hesitated. "Of course I will, High Minister. I would be honored."

* * *

Despite its sheer size, the Senatorial Chamber seemed very crowded. The fifteen thrones were arranged in a U, with three at the base and six in a row on either side. In them sat the most bizarre assortment of senators Sarah had ever seen, all talking and yelling and making a general commotion. The two huge spheres, orange and gold, orbited in apathetic quiet that contrasted greatly with the mayhem stirring underneath them.

High Minister Renwood's throne was nestled between General Terosius's on his right and Underminister Lorenan's on his left. The three senior officials were seated at the head of the U. Sarah sat on a small stool beside Aggair Vondell's throne. The Captain had traded his golden armor and plasma rifle for a black cloak embroidered with silver chain stitches. His dark hair was pulled back into a rigid ponytail. His cheekbones were sharp enough to cut through stone. He stared straight ahead, refusing to make eye contact with any of his fellow senators. Sarah felt slightly safer in Vondell's presence. So long as she was as far away from Lorenan as circumstantially possible, she had no grounds to complain.

The rest of the senators were an odd bunch. There were several dressed in splendid golden livery adorned with medals. Their hair was sheered down to the skull and they had a detestable habit of speaking excessively loudly. Sarah assumed they were other military types like General Terosius. One Miravalan had what looked like cybernetic equipment grafted onto his skin. Whenever he turned his head his neck made the sound of tinny hydraulics. He fixed Sarah with the green glare of one bionic eye and she looked away sharply. Another man was covered entirely in golden tattoos that seemed to glow in the light of the two huge spheres. Every few seconds he brought out a computer pad and scrawled a few hasty words with a stylus. He was too busy with his writing to pay the other senators any attention. The rest of the Senate were dressed similarly to Vondell and seemed absorbed in the task of bickering with the person closest to them. Sarah realized with a sinking sensation in her gut that there were no females present, and that Lorenan had begun to regard her with a mirthless smirk.

High Minister Renwood rapped his staff on the quartz floor two times and the Senatorial Chamber fell quiet. To Sarah's surprise, it was Underminister Lorenan who began to speak . . .

"Today we are joined in holy purpose under the light of the omnipotent Valestar. May He brighten the intentions of those loyal to Him and smite those who would harbor dissension in their hearts. Blessed Valestar, protect your sons on Miraval and help us to find those," Lorenan seemed to look directly at Sarah, "who would seek to bring chaos and destruction to your bright creation. On behalf of the His Eminence the High Minister of the Twin Stars and Praetor of the Ministerial Senate Lei Renwood, I declare this session open."

There was a moment of stillness. The only sound was that of the tattooed man furiously scribbling on his data pad. Sarah realized that he must have been a court stenographer of some kind.

"This meeting," boomed General Terosius, "had been convened at my behest, with the primary concern being the military efforts in the Scar."

"I suppose you want the Ministry to allot you more men, General?" drawled the cybernetic man, who did little to mask his aggravation. "More weapons, more rush orders from the Institute? We are not sweat shop, you know!"

Terosius favored the senator with a glare that could crisp bacon. "My issue is not so much a matter of resources as a matter of time, Professor Poleronius. The time differential between the openings of the Scar gives the savages on the other side sufficient time to rearm themselves and prepare for a coordinated attack. If the First Battalion had the capability to maintain a consistent barrage over the course of microturns, the opposition would be utterly eliminated!"

There were murmurs of consent from the other military types. Captain Vondell had given a small nod of approval but was drumming his long fingers on the arm of his throne. Sarah wondered what he was thinking.

The cybernetic man, Poleronius, laughed hollowly. "The Scar is a fissure in the fabric of space-time, a trans-temporal tunnel between two frames of Miravalan history! I hardly think even the Institute for the Advancement of Deep Thought has the capability to dictate when the Scar opens and closes!"

"The Scar is a gateway to the realm of the Forevertime," barked Underminister Lorenan in a tone that brooked no argument, "and thus the matter of its control should fall under Ministerial jurisdiction, not the Institute's or the military's. Only penitence and submission to the will of Valestar will alleviate His anger and bring the Scar under our control."

"I beg to differ, Underminister."

Sarah glanced behind her. Captain Vondell was looking directly at Lorenan, his hands still strumming on the arms of his chair and his expression unreadable. Sarah turned to see the Underminister's face purpling with anger. She had to purse her lips together to keep from smiling.

"As a soldier who had led the offensive against the desert militias," Vondell said drily, "it has come to my attention that the Scar _cannot_ be a gateway to the Forevertime. The militiamen who have come through are very much alive, and as such can die with relative ease."

Sarah thought of the Doctor's scarf, laying half-buried in sand in the middle of the desert. The enmity she had felt towards Vondell upon their first meeting was returning with a vengeance.

"For argument's sake," the Captain continued, "let's say I agree with both General Terosius and Atio Poleronius. That would imply that Scar is a physical phenomenon and physical phenomena can be controlled, just as this Senate has controlled the rainfall and the desert sandstorms for many turns. Professor, perhaps opening the Scar at our leisure becomes not so much a task of forcing a trans-temporal breach to reopen but instead a matter of _tricking_ the breach into believing it is opening on its own accord."

Sarah was completely lost, but General Terosius was nodding slowly and Poleronius looked intrigued. "Go on, Aggair."

"A point of order if I may, Your Eminence?" Underminister Lorenan said silkily, not breaking eye contact with Captain Vondell.

High Minister Renwood frowned and uttered a quiet, "Acknowledged."

"_Val_ Vondell has violated one of the principle codes of the Ministerial Senate; his motion of discussion is therefore moot. He has brought a female to the convention."

15 pairs of eyes fixated on Sarah, many of them burning with anger and accusation. She folded her hands across her lap and met every stare, but silently wished she were invisible. The back of Vondell's throne suddenly looked very inviting.

"This is highly irregular!" muttered the stenographer. His voice was so deep Sarah could barely understand him.

"I agree with Archivist Aiea," said Professor Poleronius. "What is the meaning of this indiscretion, Captain Vondell? From you of all people, at that!"

"Throw her out!" cried another senator.

"Lock her up!"

"The Senatorial Chamber is tainted with the blood of Miran!"

"Captain Vondell is acting on my instructions!" High Minister Renwood thumped his staff on the floor. The room grew ominously quiet. Renwood's eyes had refocused and glittered wickedly bright. They bore into the faces of each of the Ministerial Senate, causing them to look at their hooves in shame. Sarah could find none of the childish humor and kindness in Renwood's furious expression. She suddenly understood how he had been able to retain his high-ranking position despite his emotional instability.

"_Mir_ Smith is a privileged guest of mine! You are to extend to her and Captain Vondell every courtesy!" snapped the High Minister. "Underminister Lorenan, your point of order is overturned. Please continue, Aggair."

Lorenan looked more stunned than angry. "If I may, Your Eminence, at least inquire as to the reasons behind _Mir_ Smith's attendance?"

_Please don't tell him, please don't tell him, please don't tell him,_ Sarah Jane prayed.

Even Captain Vondell looked alarmed. He exchanged a glance with the High Minister and shook his head ever so subtly. Unfortunately, Renwood didn't seem to see him, or more likely, chose to ignore him.

"As the Praetor of this Senate, and leader of the Miravalan people," began Renwood; Sarah sank lower on her stool, "the nature of our societal order has been repeatedly called into question during recent turns. After the disappearance of Drunos Tyrgurian, the deaths of Sergeants Ryuno and Iretuwa, and more recently, Lieutenant Ororri, in a skirmish I was assured would not claim the lives of my people, I have begun to reconsider the decision making of our government. Our judgement is founded upon our core values, and I have come to question our singular core value of _patriarchy_."

There was a stony silence in the chamber. General Terosius was staring at the High Minister in disbelief. Atio Poleronius looked torn between bursting into tears and bursting into laughter. For the first time, Archivist Aiea's fast fingers had stalled. He darted his gaze between Renwood and his data tablet, unsure of whether or not to transcribe the High Minister's words.

"As such, _Mir_ Smith is in attendance because she will help to usher in a new era for the Ministry of the _Twin_ Stars. We are not just a people of Valestar, but of Miran as well."

Underminister Lorenan's eyes bulged to alarming proportions.

"The females of our race have been suppressed long enough. Every senator, every _male_, has agreed to fight those who come through the Scar and the Miravalan people have suffered because of it. Since there has been no opposition to our decision making, no debate has arisen to provide more peaceful alternatives. _Mir _Smith's name is Sarah in the common tongue of Miraval, but in the greater image of this people and in the future history of this world she is Miran, a representation of that which must change about the Ministry of the Twin Suns."

"Your Eminence, you are ill again," murmured Lorenan in a hushed tone that was just loud enough for the other senators to hear. They seemed to relax substantially. Evidently, they were used to their leader's erratic behavior and thought his declaration was just another one of his funny turns.

"Underminister Lorenan, I suggest you escort the High Minister back to his rest chamber," said General Terosius. "Aggair, we can speak more about your Scar strategy with Atio Poleronius back at the Institute."

"You would like that, wouldn't you, Lorenan?"

Sarah hadn't realized she had spoken aloud until she felt the stare of everyone in the chamber. A pin dropping would have sounded like thunder in the silence that followed. She took a deep breath and added, "You would strangle any hope of change until it's dead."

There was a snap and the tinkle of broken glass falling to the floor. Archivist Aiea had broken his stylus clean in two. The chamber erupted in cursing and shouting. Everyone rose and began to surge towards Sarah. Captain Vondell was on his cloven feet within seconds, shielding her from the more enraged senators trying to make a grab for her. General Terosius did not move from his throne; he was still in shock.

High Minister Renwood bellowed, "BE SILENT! Aggair, escort Sarah to my rest chamber immediately. This meeting is convened!"

Captain Vondell grabbed Sarah by the scruff of her collar and all but dragged her out of the Senatorial Chamber, the High Minister tight on their heels. The Spire guards under Vondell's command barred the senators from following them. Sarah kept her head down and tried not to make eye-contact, remembering her training in crowd control. But as Vondell wrenched her away, Sarah Jane caught the look of Underminister Lorenan. Her stomach flipped when she saw, to her horror, that he was _smiling_. His pointed canines glinted like a vampire's. The memory of his delight haunted her well after they had left the Senatorial Chamber behind.


End file.
